#the color of hope (canary yellow) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jezebelblues · 1 month ago

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don’t care if the sun don’t shine | h.s

summary: and so a rockstar and a seamstress walk into a bar coffee shop.

cw: mentions of smut, fem!reader, 1950s harry, unedited.

word count: approx 17.1k

| when in doubt, 1950s harry au 😎 am not time traveler or historian so sorry if smthn is wrong. also there’s just little hints of smut sprinkled in here, wanted to try 2 give a longer piece w/o it. hope u can enjoy maybe. also too tired to edit love u (so if u see smthn horribly misspelt or wtv, no u didn’t)

masterlist

April 1957, London

The rain fell in soft, persistent taps against the wide windows of Scotty McBean’s, the droplets weaving an intricate dance down the glass. Outside, the world was an impressionist’s canvas—blurred shades of grey, muted by mist and the rhythmic splash of tires through puddles. Inside, however, the café was a sanctuary. The warm amber glow of old Edison bulbs bathed everything in a golden light, casting long shadows that flickered with each movement. The scent of freshly ground coffee mingled with the faint trace of damp wool coats, and the creak of wooden floors added to the atmosphere.

The coffee shop was a comforting contradiction—a place where time felt slower. The brick exterior gave way to rich oak paneling, with walls painted the color of soft sunshine. Espresso-colored floors groaned underfoot, and canary-yellow booths invited patrons to sit and forget the outside world. Old black-and-white photographs of singers—Elvis, Ella Fitzgerald—were pinned to the walls, their faces capturing fleeting moments of immortality. In the back, a narrow stairwell led to the owner’s apartment above, barely noticeable to most patrons.

In the farthest corner, away from the windows, sat Harry Styles, his back to the room, shoulders slightly hunched. He was an enigma in a leather jacket that looked as though it had traveled farther than he ever could. His head was bent over a notebook, its pages filled with hasty scrawls and incomplete lyrics. His curls, damp from the drizzle outside, fell into his eyes as he stared at the paper, his pen tracing aimless circles in the margins. The world had yet to catch up with him in this quiet pocket of London, where anonymity still hung in the air like the smell of freshly cut, wet grass.

The jukebox hummed quietly in the corner, playing a scratchy rendition of a jazz tune, though Harry barely registered it. The music was always there, surrounding him, but today it eluded him. The words wouldn’t come, and the rain outside seemed to pull him further into himself. With a sigh, he swirled the last of his coffee, watching the dark liquid spin lazily before he pushed the cup aside, his frustration beginning to creep in.

The bell above the door tinkled softly as YN entered, shaking the rain from her coat before making her way to her usual seat by the window. She barely glanced around the room, her focus already on her worn paperback novel, a sanctuary from the drudgery of her seamstress shifts. Scotty’s had become her escape, a place where she could lose herself for an hour or two, watching the rain smear the world outside into something distant and irrelevant.

Harry stood up abruptly, the sound of the stool scraping against the floor breaking YN’s concentration. She looked up, her gaze drawn to the figure of the man across the room. His presence was striking in a subtle way—the tousled hair, the red button-up shirt half undone, revealing tattoos that peeked out just below the collarbones. He had an air of casual disarray, like someone who hadn’t yet figured out where they were supposed to be but didn’t mind the journey. His black slacks were cuffed just above the ankle, exposing powder-blue socks and scuffed loafers.

He moved with a kind of restless energy, as though he was eager to be anywhere but here. Harry shoved his notebook into his back pocket and tossed a few bills on the table, offering a brief nod to the barista before he pushed through the door, the sound of rain enveloping him the moment he stepped outside. The bell jingled again as the door swung shut behind him.

From her seat by the window, YN watched as his figure disappeared into the misty street. Her gaze fell to his chair and the jacket draped over the back. The leather was worn, cracked in places, and heavy with the stories it must have carried. For a moment, she considered leaving it there, assuming he’d return. But something about the way it hung—forgotten, abandoned—made her stand up. She crossed the room, the wooden floor creaking underfoot, and lifted the jacket from the chair, feeling the weight of it in her hands.

Peering out the window, she saw him, just a shadow now, walking briskly down the street. The mist clung to him like a shroud, blurring the edges of his figure as he moved further away. Without thinking, she pushed through the door, the cool air biting at her cheeks as she hurried after him, the jacket clutched tightly in her arms.

“Excuse me!” she called, her voice slightly breathless as she jogged to catch up with him. “You forgot something!”

Harry stopped, turning on his heel, his brow furrowed in brief confusion. His eyes landed on the jacket in her arms, and a slow smile curved his lips, softening the sharpness in his expression. He walked back toward her, his hands still tucked into his pockets. “Thanks,” he said, his voice low and smooth, like the distant roll of thunder on a quiet evening.

For a brief moment, their hands brushed as he took the jacket from her. The leather was cold from the rain, but her touch had left a trace of warmth. He pulled it on, the familiar weight settling over his shoulders as if it had never left. “Can’t believe I almost left that behind,” he mused, his lips quirking into a lopsided grin. “Must’ve been distracted.”

“No worries.” She shook her head, her smile growing a little as she handed it over. “I figured a jacket like that must belong to someone important—or at least someone who thinks they are.”

He let out a soft laugh, the kind that crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Important, huh? I wouldn’t go that far.”

There was a moment of quiet as YN watched him, intrigued by the easy way he carried himself, like he was used to being on his own, used to being somewhere and nowhere all at once.

“Well, thanks again.” Harry nodded toward her, adjusting the collar of his jacket. “I appreciate it.”

“Don’t mention it.” She chuckled breathily, stepping back slightly, ready to let him go on his way. “Just thought I’d return it before you left it behind for good.”

Before she could turn to walk away, Harry’s voice caught her attention. “You know,” he said, a playful glint in his eyes, “I should probably buy you a coffee as a thank you. Seems only fair.”

She tilted her head slightly, a teasing smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. “Tempting, but I’ve got somewhere to be.” She turned then, walking away with a casual wave, her shoes splashing lightly in the puddles. “But maybe next time.”

Harry stood there for a moment, watching her disappear into the mist. A smile still lingered on his lips as he tucked his hands back into his pockets and continued on his way, the weight of the jacket a comforting reminder of the brief encounter.

And yet, as the rain continued to fall, he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something—someone—had just slipped through his fingers.

A week passed, and London remained draped in its usual veil of rain. The days blurred into one another as spring fought to emerge from beneath the clouds, the city waking slowly from the cold grip of winter. The air had a softness now, a kind of unspoken promise that something brighter was on the horizon, even if it wasn’t quite ready to reveal itself.

Scotty’s was much the same. The familiar hum of conversation, the soft clink of spoons against porcelain, the low murmur of a tune crackling through the jukebox. But today, something lingered in the atmosphere—an anticipation, as if the world was holding its breath, waiting for a subtle shift.

Harry found himself back at the café, though he wasn’t sure why. The lyrics had begun to flow again, slowly at first, but with a rhythm he could almost grasp. The pages of his notebook were no longer blank, though they still felt incomplete. He had made peace with that; creation was a process, after all. He sipped his coffee, black as always, staring through the rain-streaked window at the blurred shapes of pedestrians rushing by, umbrellas bobbing like ink stains against the grey.

He hadn’t expected to see her again, though the thought of her had lingered more than he cared to admit. The girl with the kind eyes and a smile that danced at the edges of her lips. He couldn’t recall the exact shape of her face, but the impression she left—like the trace of warmth her touch had left on his jacket—remained vivid. It had been a fleeting moment, but it had shifted something in him.

Across the room, the door chimed softly, admitting a gust of cool, damp air as it opened. Harry didn’t look up at first, too lost in the quiet cadence of his thoughts. But then, a familiar voice, muffled by the bustle, drifted over the sound of rain and soft rock n roll. His gaze lifted almost involuntarily, and there she was—her coat still damp from the street, strands of hair clinging to her cheek as she unwound her scarf and shook off the cold.

YN moved to her usual seat by the window, her eyes flicking to the rain-soaked cityscape beyond, unaware of the gaze that had settled on her. She seemed tired, as if the week had worn her down, yet there was a quiet resilience in the way she sat, her worn paperback already in hand. The café felt like a different place with her in it—warmer somehow, despite the chill from outside.

He hesitated. There was no reason for him to approach her. She had her book, her own sanctuary. But something tugged at him, a quiet nudge that whispered of unfinished business. He didn’t believe in fate, not really, but perhaps in coincidences that demanded attention.

Before he could second-guess himself, he stood, his leather jacket creaking softly as he slung it over his shoulders. He crossed the café in a few strides, the wooden floors groaning beneath his weight, and paused at her table, casting a shadow over the page of her book.

“Mind if I sit?” His voice was softer than he intended, as if he, too, was wary of disturbing the delicate balance of the moment.

YN glanced up, startled at first, but recognition quickly softened her expression. Her eyes flicked to the jacket—the same one she had returned to him just days ago—and a small, knowing smile curved her lips. “Well, if it isn’t mr. forget-me-nots.” She grinned, closing her book and gesturing to the chair across from her. “Go ahead.”

He sat, the silence between them stretching out in an oddly comfortable way. The rain continued its steady rhythm against the window, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. There was no rush.

“I never did buy you that coffee,” Harry said, leaning back in his chair, his hands resting casually in his lap. “Thought I might owe you one.”

She chuckled softly, a sound that seemed to blend with the ambient music, smooth and warm. “You don’t owe me anything. But if you’re offering, I won’t say no.”

He motioned to the barista, ordering two coffees without asking her preference. Somehow, he sensed they would drink the same. The brief exchange felt easy, natural, as if they were old acquaintances rather than strangers bound by a single, fleeting encounter.

“So,” she said after a pause, studying him with a curious glint in her eye, “you still distracted?”

“Always.” Harry replied with a grin, running a hand through his damp curls. “Though less so, lately.”

The coffees arrived, and they both reached for their cups at the same time, their fingers brushing once again. This time, the touch lingered a moment longer, neither of them pulling away too quickly.

For a while, they talked about nothing—music, the rain, the oddities of London in spring. She told him about a film she’d seen at the Odeon, describing the way the characters had seemed to glow against the shadows of post-war England, and he listened with an attentiveness that surprised even him. He didn’t talk much about his music—he didn’t need to. The conversation flowed around it, like a river bending around an unseen stone.

The light in the café shifted as the afternoon stretched into evening, the golden glow deepening, casting their features in warm, soft hues. The rain had stopped, leaving behind a slick sheen on the streets outside, reflecting the world like a forgotten dream.

As they finished their second cups of coffee, Harry glanced out the window, watching the lights of passing cars blur into streaks of color. “Do you come here often?” he asked, the question simply, but laced with more than casual curiosity.

YN smiled, folding her hands around her empty cup. “When I can. It’s nice to escape for a bit, to be somewhere where the world slows down, even if just for an hour.”

He nodded, understanding that feeling all too well. Silence settled between them again, comfortable and heavy with unspoken things. The day was fading, and yet neither of them seemed eager to leave, as if this small corner of the world—this small moment—was theirs to hold for a little longer.

“Maybe I’ll see you again.” She mumbled softly, though it stood more of a question. Her eyes caught his for a lingering moment before she stood, pulling her coat around her shoulders.

“Maybe,” he replied, watching as she turned to leave, her steps quiet against the floor.

The bell above the door chimed as she walked out into the fading light, her figure disappearing once again into the misty streets. This time, Harry didn’t feel like anything had slipped away. Instead, there was a quiet certainty that hung in the air, like the last note of a song, waiting to be played again.

Another week later, the rain returned, draping the city in its familiar haze, washing the streets in muted shades of silver and grey. The city hummed beneath its damp blanket, alive with the quiet energy of a world that never truly stopped moving. The coffee shop was once again a refuge, its amber light glowing through the mist like a beacon for those seeking warmth and a momentary escape from the relentless rhythm of the outside.

Harry found himself at his usual spot, though this time there was less of the restless energy that had consumed him in previous weeks. He still wore the same jacket—weathered and worn, but it had grown more comfortable on his shoulders, like it had settled into him, just as he had begun to settle into the slow, steady rhythm of the café. His notebook lay open on the table, but today, he wasn’t scribbling hurried lyrics or fragments of thought. He was simply sitting, watching the rain trickle down the glass, feeling the weight of time slow around him.

He hadn’t seen her again since their last meeting, but the memory of their conversation lingered in his mind, like a melody he couldn’t quite forget. There had been something unspoken between them, something delicate and unfinished, and though they had parted ways without exchanging names, without exchanging promises, there was an unshakable feeling that their story wasn’t over.

The bell above the door tinkled softly, and Harry’s gaze flicked up instinctively, his breath catching in his throat. There she was.

She stood in the doorway, shaking the rain from her hair, her coat damp and her cheeks flushed from the cold. Her eyes scanned the room briefly before settling on him, and for a moment, they simply looked at each other, the space between them thick with the unspoken familiarity that had formed in their brief encounters. She smiled—soft and almost tentative—as if she, too, was unsure of what came next but willing to find out.

Without hesitation, YN made her way toward him, and Harry, unable to help himself, stood up as she approached. There was something magnetic about the way she moved, her presence shifting the air in the room, drawing his attention in a way that felt effortless and natural.

“Mind if I join you?” she asked, her voice a little breathless, her fingers tugging lightly at the edges of her scarf.

“Not at all.” Harry smiled, gesturing to the seat across from him, a slow smile spreading across his face.

She sat down, folding her hands neatly on the table, and for a moment, they just looked at each other, the soft sounds of Scotty’s filling the comfortable silence between them. Outside, the rain tapped lightly against the windows, casting everything in a shimmering, dreamlike quality.

“Seems we keep running into each other,” YN said, her smile widening as she leaned back slightly in her chair.

“London’s smaller than it looks.” Harry laughed, his eyes glinting with a quiet amusement. “Or maybe we just keep ending up in the same places.”

Their coffees arrived soon after, and for a while, they fell into an easy rhythm of conversation, punctuated by the occasional sip and the comfortable pauses that stretched between them. They talked about everything and nothing—books, music, the rain, the way the city seemed to transform under its misty veil. Harry found himself listening more than he spoke, captivated by the way she described the world around her, as if she saw it through a lens just slightly different from his own.

“Do you ever get the feeling,” YN said after a moment, her fingers tracing absentminded circles around the rim of her cup, “that some places just hold memories? Like they’re waiting for something to happen, or maybe they already have, and we’re just walking through it.”

He considered her words, though they were random—watching the way the light flickered across her face, casting delicate shadows that danced with each subtle movement. “Yeah.” He murmured, nodding. “I get that. Sometimes I think the city’s like that. Full of moments we’ll never really understand, but we’re part of them anyway.”

She looked at him then, her gaze holding his for a beat longer than usual, something unspoken passing between them. The rain outside seemed to soften, the world outside the window fading into a blur of greys and soft edges, leaving only the two of them in this small, golden-lit corner of the café.

“Do you come here to write?” she asked, her eyes flicking briefly to the notebook resting on the table between them.

Harry glanced down at it, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Sometimes. When the words come.”

“And when they don’t?” Her eyebrows furrowed, tone gentle, but with a hint of curiosity.

“When they don’t..” He paused, “I just sit here and pretend like they will.” He said with a quiet laugh, leaning back in his chair. “But I don’t mind. Sometimes it’s enough to just sit and watch the world go by.”

She nodded, understanding the sentiment in a way that didn’t need further explanation. They lapsed into silence again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. The café seemed to breathe around them, the soft murmur of conversations, the faint clink of dishes being cleared away, the rain that had begun to fall harder now, tapping insistently against the window.

“So,” Harry said after a while, his voice soft but playful, “are we going to keep pretending we don’t know each other’s names? Or is this going to be a thing?”

YN’s lips curved into a mischievous smile, her eyes twinkling. “I kind of liked the mystery,” she teased. “But I suppose we’ve gone long enough, haven’t we?”

He grinned, extending his hand across the table. “Harry.”

She took his hand, her grip firm and warm, her smile never wavering. “YN.”

There it was—a name, a simple exchange that felt like the opening of a door they had both been circling around for days. Harry’s fingers lingered against hers a moment longer before they let go, and with it, the air between them seemed to shift, something unspoken settling into place.

“I suppose now we can talk about more interesting things.” YN chuckled, her tone light, but there was a softness in her eyes that hadn’t been there before. Something more open, more curious.

Harry leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table, his gaze never leaving hers. “Yeah,” he said, his voice low and full of quiet promise. “I think we’ve got time for that.”

The rain outside intensified, drumming against the windows of Scotty’s with a steady, hypnotic rhythm. Inside, the café seemed to shrink around them, the sounds of clinking cups and quiet conversations fading into a soft murmur in the background. It was as if the world outside had dimmed, leaving only the golden warmth of their table, the soft glow from the Edison bulbs overhead casting a flickering light over their faces.

Harry rested his chin on his hand, his eyes tracing her features as she spoke, but this time, he wasn’t just listening to her words. He was watching the way her lips curved when she smiled, the faint crease at the corner of her eyes when something amused her. She had a way of speaking that was unhurried, deliberate, like she wasn’t afraid of silences. He liked that. It made the conversation feel richer, like they were both taking their time to truly settle into it.

“So,” YN grinned, leaning forward slightly, her eyes twinkling with a new kind of curiosity, “I know we’re past the point of mystery now, but I can’t help but wonder—what do you do, Harry? Besides sitting in cafés, pretending to write.” There was a playful lilt to her voice, but underneath it, genuine intrigue.

Harry smiled, glancing down at his notebook for a moment before returning his gaze to hers. “I suppose y’could say I write. Music, mostly. Or at least, I try to. Been doing it for a while now, but some days..well, it’s more like staring at blank pages and hoping the words will show up.”

Her brow arched slightly, the teasing smile still in place. “A musician, huh? That explains the jacket, I think.”

Harry laughed, a low, easy sound. “What, this old thing?” He tugged at the sleeve of his worn leather jacket. “Yeah, it’s seen a few gigs. I guess it’s part of the look.”

“Fits,” she said, her gaze drifting over the jacket before meeting his eyes again. “You seem like someone who carries a lot of stories around.”

He tilted his head, studying her. “I think we all do. We just don’t always share them.”

YN looked at him thoughtfully, her fingers playing absentmindedly with the rim of her cup. “I like that,” she said softly. “The idea that we’re all carrying our own stories, waiting for the right moment to tell them.”

They sat in that shared moment of understanding, the rain a constant, steady beat in the background, as if the city itself was nodding along to their conversation. The café felt like a world apart, and in the dim light, their words felt heavier, more significant.

“What about you?” Harry asked, leaning in a little, his voice dropping slightly as though the question required a quieter space between them. “What’s your story, YN?”

She smiled, though there was a slight hesitation in it, as if the question had tugged at something deeper than she’d expected. She glanced out the window for a moment, watching the rain dance down the glass, before returning her gaze to him. “Nothing as glamorous as writing music, I’m afraid,” she said with a soft chuckle. “I’m a seamstress. Spend most of my days with fabric and thread, stitching things together.” She paused, her fingers still tracing the rim of her cup. “But I suppose, in a way, it’s similar. Trying to create something from nothing. Trying to make something that lasts.”

Harry’s smile softened as he listened. There was something in the way she said it—a quiet pride, though she seemed to downplay it. “Sounds like you do more than stitch things together,” he said gently. “Sounds like you’re an artist.”

YN’s eyes flickered with something—surprise, perhaps, or a kind of recognition she hadn’t expected to find in someone she had met only weeks ago. She tilted her head slightly, considering him in a new light. “Maybe,” she said, her voice quieter now. “Maybe we both are.”

The weather outside eased, as though it too was settling into the rhythm of their conversation, content to simply fall, uninterrupted. For a long moment, they said nothing, but there was no need for words. The connection between them had deepened, a quiet understanding of two people who had lived different lives but were somehow walking along the same path, at least for now.

As the café began to empty and the light outside faded into a deeper shade of grey, YN glanced at the clock on the wall and sighed softly. “I should go,” she said reluctantly, standing and gathering her things. “I’ve got an early start tomorrow.”

Harry stood as well, though he made no move to rush her. “Same time next week?” he asked, though it sounded more like a pleas. His voice was hopeful, the hint of a smile playing at his lips.

She paused, her eyes meeting his, a smile spreading across her face. “Maybe,” she said, her tone teasing but warm. “We’ll see if the rain brings us back together.”

He watched as she walked toward the door, the soft jingle of the bell marking her departure. But as she reached the threshold, she turned back, her eyes catching his in the dim light.

“Goodnight, Harry,” she said, her voice soft and clear.

“Goodnight, YN,” he replied, his gaze lingering on her until she disappeared into the misty streets, the rain swallowing her silhouette.

Harry stood there for a moment longer, the warmth of the café a comforting weight around him, though the space felt a little emptier now that she was gone. He knew they’d see each other again—there was something inevitable about it, something like the rain itself. It came and went, but it always returned, steady and certain.

And as he sat back down at the table, his notebook still open in front of him, the words finally began to come, slow and steady, like the first drops of rain after a long dry spell.

The rain had finally lifted. After weeks of mist and drizzle, London began to stir under clearer skies, the clouds pulling apart like curtains to reveal a softer light. The city, for the first time in what felt like ages, glimmered under the hesitant warmth of spring. It was the kind of day that made people walk a little slower, tilt their faces up to the sun as if to remind themselves that it still existed. The air smelled clean, almost sweet, with the faint scent of budding flowers lingering along the sidewalks.

Harry stood on the corner near the shop, the light wind catching the edges of his shirt. Today, the jacket that had become a kind of signature, was left at home. He wore only a white t-shirt and a worn pair of denim jeans. There was something almost unfamiliar about the city bathed in this kind of light, as though London itself wasn’t quite sure how to behave without the constant mist of rain.

The café came into view, its windows still streaked with the remnants of the last downpour, though the golden light streaming through them made the place look brighter, more inviting. As Harry crossed the street, his shoes tapping against the dry pavement, he found himself wondering if she’d be there. It wasn’t something they had agreed upon exactly—just a suggestion, a possibility—but he’d found himself coming back, waiting. Hoping.

He pushed open the door to Scotty’s, the familiar chime of the bell greeting him, and for a moment, he felt the comforting weight of routine. The café was quieter than usual, the absence of rain having drawn more people outdoors to bask in the fleeting sunshine. He glanced around the room, his eyes naturally drawn to the corner booth by the window, where he had come to expect her.

And there she was.

YN sat in her usual seat, her coat draped over the back of the chair, a book open in front of her. But this time, she wasn’t lost in the pages. She was looking out the window, her face tilted toward the sunlight, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the spine of her book. The light caught the edges of her hair, making it glow in a way that was almost ethereal, and for a moment, Harry just stood there, watching her, struck by the quiet beauty of the scene.

She didn’t seem to notice him at first, her gaze lost in the world outside the window, where people strolled along the sunlit streets, their faces bright with the unexpected warmth of the day. But then, as if sensing his presence, she turned her head, and their eyes met.

A smile flickered across her face, slow and soft, like the unfolding of a secret. Harry felt his own lips curve in response, the tension he hadn’t even realized he was holding loosening as he made his way over to her.

“Sunny days suit you.” He smiled, his way of greeting as he slid into the seat across from her.

“Do they?” YN asked, her smile growing as she closed her book and set it aside. “I was starting to think I’d forgotten what the sun looked like.”

Harry laughed, the sound light in the quiet café. “Yeah, City’s not exactly known for its sunny days. But it’s nice to finally see it, isn’t it?”

She nodded, her gaze drifting out the window again. “It feels different today. Like it’s waking up after a long sleep.”

“It does,” he agreed, following her gaze to the street outside, where the light seemed to bounce off the buildings, painting everything in a golden hue. “I almost didn’t recognize it without the rain.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, both of them basking in the novelty of the sunshine filtering through the café’s windows, casting long, lazy shadows on the floor. The warmth felt new, like a gift they hadn’t quite expected, and it seemed to slow everything down, stretching the minutes into something more luxurious, more tender.

“I almost didn’t recognize you without your jacket.” YN teased, her eyes flicking to white shirt that allowed for his tattoos to faintly peak through. “You look like you’re finally thawing out.”

Harry grinned, shrugging slightly as he leaned back in his chair. “Spring does strange things to people.”

YN smiled at that, her eyes catching the sunlight as it danced across the table. “Maybe it’s not so strange. Maybe it’s just the world reminding us there’s more to life than waiting out the rain.”

Harry looked at her for a moment, her words hanging in the air between them, their meaning sinking deeper than the lighthearted tone in which they were said. There was something about her that pulled him in, something beyond the casual conversations they’d had over coffee. She spoke with a quiet wisdom, as if she saw the world in a way that others missed, catching the subtleties in moments that most people let slip by.

“I like that,” he said softly. “I like the idea that there’s more.”

Their coffees arrived, interrupting the moment, and for a while, they settled into an easy rhythm—sipping, talking, the light stretching across the table as the day moved forward. The conversation flowed easily, as it always did, but today it felt lighter, less burdened by the weight of grey skies and rain-soaked streets. They laughed more, their words lifting with the warmth of the sun, as if the change in weather had loosened something in both of them.

“Do you ever wonder what would have happened if you hadn’t come back for your jacket?” YN asked suddenly, her tone playful but with a hint of genuine curiosity. “If you’d just walked away that day?”

He smiled, the memory of their first encounter flickering in his mind. “I’d probably still be wandering around, writing terrible songs and cursing the rain.”

She laughed, the sound bright and full, and Harry couldn’t help but join in, the warmth of it filling the space between them. But as their laughter faded, he looked at her more seriously, his gaze soft but steady.

“I’m glad I came back,” he said quietly, his voice low. “It feels like everything’s been a little brighter since then.”

YN met his eyes, her own expression softening, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Yeah,” she murmured, her voice just as quiet. “It has, hasn’t it?”

Outside, the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the streets, but inside the café, the golden light lingered, wrapping around them like something tangible. There was a new kind of warmth between them now, one that wasn’t just about the weather.

It felt like the beginning of something more, something that had been waiting for the sun to finally come out.

As the day slowly gave way to evening, neither of them moved, content to stay in this moment a little longer, their hands resting on the table, close but not quite touching, as if they were waiting for the right time to close the distance.

And for the first time in weeks, Harry wasn’t in a hurry to leave. The clink of cups and low murmur of conversations filled the café, but in this corner, it felt as though the world had slowed just for them.

Then, the bell above the door jingled, followed by a burst of energy as a group of teenage girls entered the café, their school uniforms slightly rumpled after a long day of lessons. Their chatter filled the air—laughter, the soft rustle of notebooks, and the sound of footsteps shuffling toward the counter. They looked like they were regulars here, perhaps stopping by for a post-school treat, the brightness of their presence contrasting with the calm, almost serene mood of the café.

At first, he barely noticed them, his attention still on YN. But then, one of the girls, no more than sixteen, froze in place, her eyes wide as they landed on him. Her breath caught in her throat, and she nudged her friend beside her, whispering hurriedly, “It’s him! Oh my gosh, it’s really him!”

The group turned in unison, their excited whispers rising in pitch. Their eyes were fixed on Harry, who hadn’t fully noticed yet, too absorbed in his conversation with YN. But the girls didn’t move—just stood there, staring with a mix of awe and disbelief, as though they had stumbled upon something out of a dream.

Suddenly, one of them gathered the courage to step forward. She clutched a worn notebook in her hands, her voice trembling slightly with excitement as she approached the booth. “Excuse me are you–are you Harry Styles?”

He looked up, momentarily taken aback by the intensity of the gaze directed at him. The girls stood there, wide-eyed and hopeful, as if the entire café had shifted its attention to this one moment.

Harry blinked, a slow smile forming on his lips as he leaned back in his seat. He wasn’t quite used to this, especially not in a quiet place like this, but he understood the spark in their eyes. It reminded him of how he used to feel, discovering his favorite musicians, before he became part of the scene himself.

“Yeah.” he smiled, his voice friendly but low, as though he didn’t want to disturb the delicate atmosphere of the café. “In the flesh.”

The girls exchanged glances, their excitement bubbling up as they realized they weren’t imagining it. “We saw you perform last month!” one of them blurted, her voice breathless. “At the Odeon. You were incredible! Could we–could we maybe have your autograph?”

Harry chuckled softly as he reached for the notebook she held out. “Of course.” He insisted, taking the pen she offered with shaking hands. He glanced briefly at YN, who was watching the scene with an amused smile, clearly enjoying the shift in energy.

As he scribbled his name, the girls hovered around him, chattering about the performance, about how they had saved up their money to buy tickets, and how they’d never forget the way he played that one song with such emotion. Harry smiled at their enthusiasm, handing the notebook back and signing a second for one of the others, his pen gliding smoothly across the paper.

“I can’t believe it,” one of the girls whispered to her friend, clutching her signed notebook to her chest as though it were the most valuable thing in the world. “We’ve never seen anyone famous in real life before.”

“Thank you so much!” the first girl exclaimed, beaming as she tucked her notebook into her school bag. “We’ll remember this forever.”

Harry nodded, his smile warm but humble as his cheeks heated to a faint pink.

The girls, still buzzing with excitement, waved one last time before heading to the counter to order their drinks. They glanced back at him occasionally, whispering excitedly to each other, but they gave him space, respecting the fact that he had returned to his conversation with YN.

As the café settled back into its familiar rhythm, Harry leaned back in his seat, exhaling softly as he watched the girls from the corner of his eye. YN, who had been quietly observing, raised an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

“Looks like someone’s popular,” she teased gently, her eyes glinting with amusement.

Harry laughed, shaking his head. “Not sure if I’ll ever get used to that.” he sighed lightly, running a hand through his tousled hair. “They seem to think I’m a bigger deal than I really am.”

YN tilted her head, her smile softening. “Maybe you’re more of a big deal than you think,” she said, her voice light but sincere. “It’s not every day people chase you down for an autograph.”

Harry chuckled again, though there was a faint flush of embarrassment creeping into his cheeks. “I suppose. Still feels strange, though.”

There was a pause, and YN glanced out the window, her fingers tapping gently against her cup. “I guess I’m lucky, then,” she said with a small smile. “I didn’t even know who you were when we met.”

He looked at her, surprised by the statement. “You really didn’t?”

She shook her head, her expression still playful but honest. “Nope. Just a guy who almost left his jacket behind.”

Harry laughed, the sound filling the quiet space between them. “Well, that’s a first.”

The warmth between them returned, unspoken but tangible, as if the moment with the girls had only brought them closer. The light outside had shifted, growing richer, casting long shadows across the street, but inside, everything felt brighter, more alive. There was something about the way YN looked at him—like she saw him, not the person the girls had seen, not the performer on stage, but the version of him that sat here, in this quiet café, sipping coffee and talking about everything and nothing.

Harry leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table, his eyes steady on hers. “I like that,” he said softly. “I like that you didn’t know.”

She smiled, her fingers tracing the rim of her cup again, and in that moment, everything outside—the chatter of the girls, the fading light, the hum of the city—faded away, leaving just the two of them, suspended in the warmth of the day, in the quiet unfolding of something new.

“I think I like it too,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper, but her words carried more weight than anything else that had passed between them.

And in the golden light of a rare, sunny afternoon, it felt like they had found something more than just a shared cup of coffee. Something that stretched beyond the fame, beyond the rain, beyond the quiet streets of London.

Something real.

By mid-JULY, London had shed its usual cloak of mist and drizzle, now bathed in the soft warmth of summer. The air was thick with the scent of blooming flowers, and the city hummed with a new kind of energy—the kind that only came when the long days stretched lazily into balmy evenings. The streets sparkled under the glow of late sunsets, and the Thames shimmered like liquid gold in the fading light.

For the past few months, Harry and YN had settled into a rhythm that felt effortless. Coffee at Scotty’s, long walks through the city, moments of quiet laughter shared in the sunlit corners of bookshops and parks. Their lives had intertwined slowly, naturally, like vines creeping toward one another, until the space between them felt impossibly small.

Now, as she sat in the front row of the packed concert hall Harry dragged her to, YN realized just how little she’d truly known about Harry Styles. He had mentioned his music, his gigs, but this—this was something else entirely.

The crowd buzzed with anticipation, the air electric with excitement. Fans lined the rows behind her, their voices a cacophony of eager murmurs and cheers. She could feel the heat of their collective energy as they waited, ready for the show to begin. The stage lights dimmed, and the crowd erupted into a wave of deafening applause and screams. YN’s heart raced, her hands gripping the edge of her seat as she watched the lights swirl and shift across the stage.

Then, out of the shadows, Harry emerged.

The crowd roared with an intensity that startled her, the air vibrating with their cheers as he walked to the microphone, his leather jacket gleaming under the lights, his presence commanding the room with an effortless ease. There he was—the same man who drank coffee with her in a quiet café, the same man who once nervously scribbled lyrics into a notebook. But here, on this stage, he was something more. Something bigger.

Harry grinned as he strummed the opening chords to Sunflower, the crowd immediately swaying to the familiar tune. His voice, rich and soulful, filled the room, and YN felt herself drawn into it, the lyrics washing over her, weaving through the crowd like a thread connecting him to every single person in the room. The way he performed, with such raw emotion and vulnerability, it was like he was telling the story of his life, not just singing a song.

YN watched, mesmerized, as Harry transitioned seamlessly into other songs. The energy of the crowd grew wild, and the music throbbed through the hall, each note setting the room ablaze. The girls behind her screamed his name, their voices blending into a chorus of adoration, and for the first time, YN fully understood what he had meant when he said he wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to it.

She had seen glimpses of this world—the autograph requests, the fans who recognized him even in a quiet café—but this was different. This was Harry in his element, where his talent became something bigger than himself, something that drew people in, made them feel seen, heard, understood.

By the time he reached Little Black Dress the crowd was on its feet, dancing, singing along at the top of their lungs. Harry owned the stage, moving with a confidence that radiated off him, his eyes occasionally scanning the crowd until, for the briefest moment, they landed on her. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips, and even with the chaos of the crowd around them, it felt like a private exchange, a secret shared in the middle of the noise.

When the final chords echoed through the hall, the applause was thunderous. YN stood with the rest of the crowd, her hands aching from clapping, her heart pounding in her chest as Harry took his bow, soaking in the cheers, his grin wide and unrestrained. The lights faded, and the crowd began to disperse, but YN stayed rooted in place, her eyes still on the stage, as if trying to capture the last flicker of magic before it disappeared.

Soon after, a staff member approached her, politely guiding her toward the backstage area. She followed, her footsteps light with anticipation, weaving through the narrow corridors of the venue until she reached a door with a small gold plaque that read Dressing Room.

She knocked lightly, and within seconds, the door swung open. There he was, leaning against the frame, still catching his breath from the show, his hair damp from sweat, his eyes shining. His leather jacket had been discarded, leaving him in a simple white shirt that clung to his skin.

“Hey!” Harry greeted, his voice a little hoarse from singing, but his smile bright and warm.

“Hey yourself.” She echoed with a smile, stepping inside. “That was incredible, H. I mean, I knew you were talented, but seeing you like that—on stage, in front of all those people—it’s something else.”

Harry shrugged, a little bashful now that the spotlight was no longer on him. “S’just a show.” He mumbled sheepishly, though the way his eyes flickered told her he was still riding the high of the performance.

“No,” she said softly, her voice firm but kind. “It’s more than that. I’ve never seen anything like it. The way the crowd reacted to you, the way you moved them—it was electric.” She stepped closer, her eyes locking onto his, filled with a quiet admiration. “You have real talent, Harry. The kind that’s rare. I’m so proud of you.”

Harry’s breath caught in his throat at her words. He had heard praise before—countless times, from strangers, fans, even critics—but coming from her, it felt different. It felt real.

For a moment, he didn’t know what to say, and the silence hung between them, charged with the unspoken emotions they had carefully danced around for months. He looked at her, standing there in front of him, the glow from the stage lights still lingering on her face, and something inside him shifted. It was as if every conversation, every shared look, every coffee at Scotty’s had been leading to this moment.

“I need to tell you something.” He murmured with a hesitant nod, his voice suddenly lower, more serious. He stepped closer, closing the small distance between them, his eyes never leaving hers. “These past few months—getting t’know you..I didn’t expect this. I didn’t expect to feel this way.”

Her breath hitched as he reached out, his fingers brushing gently against her hand.

“But I do,” he continued, his voice soft but filled with conviction. “I like you, YN. More than just a friend. More than just someone I grab coffee with. You’ve been the one thing I can count on t’feel real, when everything else is crazy. I didn’t want to admit it to myself for a while, but now—” He paused, his hand slipping into hers. “I can’t keep it t’myself anymore.”

For a moment, YN just stood there, her heart racing, her hand warm in his. She had felt it too—the pull, the connection—but hearing it from him, standing there in the aftermath of his performance, made it all the more real. Slowly, she smiled, her fingers tightening around his.

“I’m glad you said something,” she whispered, stepping closer, her other hand brushing lightly against his chest. “Cause I thought I was crazy for thinking the same.”

Harry’s eyes lit up, and in that instant, the world outside the dressing room faded away. The noise of the crowd, the lingering adrenaline from the show, all disappeared, leaving just the two of them in the soft glow of backstage lights.

He smiled, his thumb gently tracing the back of her hand. “So what now?” he asked, his voice low, a playful hint in his tone.

“Now,” she said, smiling up at him, her voice full of warmth and certainty, “We just be.”

And with that, he leaned in, his lips brushing hers in a kiss that felt like the answer to every question they had left unspoken, every moment they had shared in silence. It was soft, slow, and filled with the promise of something new, something neither of them could ignore any longer.

When they finally pulled back, Harry rested his forehead against hers, his breath still a little uneven, his smile wide and unrestrained.

“Best show I’ve ever played,” he whispered, and YN laughed, her heart light and full as they stood there, together, the future unfolding around them like the soft warmth of a summer night.

After a month of bliss, the late AUGUST sun streamed through the open kitchen window of Harry’s flat, casting a golden light over the space. A soft breeze drifted in, carrying with it the sounds of the bustling streets below, a gentle hum that filled the quiet moments between their words. The fire escape, just outside, rattled slightly in the breeze, its iron bars warm from the afternoon sun. It was a peaceful, lazy kind of day, the kind where the world outside moved in fast forward while everything inside seemed to slow down to a comfortable stillness.

YN sat across from Harry at the small kitchen table, her legs tucked under her on the worn wooden chair, her skin still glowing from the warmth of the afternoon. She was only wearing a pair of dainty white socks, her frame barely visible underneath the oversized pink button-up of Harry’s that hung loosely off her shoulder, the fabric draping over her like a second skin. Her hair was tousled, soft from a morning spent doing nothing but being with him, and she looked effortlessly beautiful. The shirt, far too large for her, hung in a way that felt intimate, as though it had become an extension of him on her.

She cradled a cup of tea between her hands, sharing it with Harry. Every now and then, they’d exchange the cup, their fingers brushing as they passed it back and forth, a quiet exchange of warmth that mirrored the easy comfort between them. The tea was a little cool now, forgotten between soft smiles and absentminded touches.

Harry sat opposite her, his acoustic guitar resting across his lap, his fingers lazily strumming a melody that filled the air like a soft hum. He was dressed in nothing but plaid boxers and socks, his usual nonchalance apparent, his bare chest catching the light as he leaned back in his chair, his eyes focused more on her than on the guitar.

The melody shifted, a fun, intimate tune that YN hadn’t heard before. She looked up at him, her brows raised slightly in curiosity.

“What’s that?” She giggled, her voice dipped in honey, though, almost hesitant, as if she was interrupting a secret.

Harry’s lips curled into a slow smile, his fingers still moving gently over the strings. “Cinema.” He said gently, his voice quiet, as if the song were something fragile, still forming. “S’about you.”

Her heart skipped a beat at his words, her fingers tightening slightly around the teacup as she watched him, her eyes wide and full of something unspoken. The song was simple, delicate, but each note felt like it was laced with the weight of everything they’d shared, every laugh, every touch, every quiet moment between them.

He began to sing softly, his voice smooth and low, the lyrics winding around her like a slow embrace. The song told of the way he saw her, how helplessly he was beginning to fall for her, each moment between them something worth watching, worth cherishing. He sang about the little things—the way everything about her felt like a never ending climax, way she made the ordinary feel like something more.

YN listened, captivated by the sound of his voice, by the intimacy of the words. She hadn’t known how much of him had been poured into this song, hadn’t realized how deeply he felt until now. As he finished the last note, she set the teacup down, her chest tight with emotion.

“I dig you, too.” She grinned, her voice thick with admiration and something deeper. She reached out, her fingers brushing his wrist gently. “I don’t know what else to say.”

Harry smiled, his eyes soft as he set the guitar aside, leaning forward slightly. “You don’t have t’say anything.”

And then, without thinking, without hesitation, she leaned across the small table and kissed him.

The kiss was soft at first, a gentle press of lips that spoke of the quiet affection they had shared for months. But then, as Harry’s hand moved to the back of her neck, pulling her closer, it deepened, a slow burn that spread through her like the warmth of the sun streaming in through the window. Her fingers tangled in his curls as she pulled him closer, as much as she could with the guitar between them, her body leaning forward, chest pressed into his, their breaths mingling in the stillness of the kitchen.

For a moment, nothing else existed. The sounds from the street outside faded away, the distant hum of the city disappearing as the world shrank down to just the two of them—her lips on his, his hands on her skin, the heat between them palpable.

But after a few heartbeats, they pulled away, their foreheads resting against one another, their breaths coming in soft, uneven pants. YN smiled against his lips, her hand still resting lightly on his chest.

“Play something else,” she whispered, her voice playful, her eyes bright with mischief. “Something I can dance to.”

Harry chuckled, leaning back in his chair, a hint of amusement in his eyes as he reached for the guitar again. “Dance, huh? Alright, let’s see what I can do.”

He adjusted the guitar on his lap, his fingers finding the familiar chords as he began to play Heart Attack, a song that always sent his audience wild but now, in the quiet intimacy of his flat, felt like a private performance just for her. The upbeat rhythm filled the kitchen, light and infectious, and YN grinned as she stood up, the oversized shirt hanging loosely around her, the hem brushing against her bare thighs as she moved.

She danced in the kitchen, her feet barely making a sound as they moved across the floor, her arms raised as she twirled, laughing softly as she spun in circles. There was something carefree about the way she moved, something so full of joy that it made Harry’s heart ache in the best possible way. Her hair flew behind her, catching the light, and the oversized shirt swayed with each movement, slipping further off her shoulder as she lost herself in the moment.

Harry kept playing, his eyes never leaving her as she danced. The song flowed through the room, but all he could focus on was her—the way she moved so freely, so unselfconsciously, the way she smiled at him, the way her laughter filled the space between the notes. There was something about seeing her like this, in his flat, in his shirt, dancing to his music, that made his chest tighten with a feeling he couldn’t quite put into words.

He watched her, his fingers still moving over the cords, but his mind was somewhere else entirely. He was starting to realize just how much she meant to him, how much she had become a part of his life, a part of him. She wasn’t just someone he shared coffee with, or someone who listened to his songs—she was his person, the one who made everything feel more real, more grounded.

As he played, the realization settled over him quietly, like the gentle August breeze drifting through the open window. He was falling for her. Slowly, steadily, in the way you fall for someone without even realizing it’s happening until you’re already halfway in.

But he didn’t say anything. Not yet. He just watched her, the sound of the guitar filling the air as she danced and laughed, the summer sun spilling golden light into the room around them, framing her in a moment he knew he’d carry with him long after the music stopped.

SEPTEMBER had arrived quietly, bringing with it a softness that only early autumn could offer. The leaves were just beginning to turn at the edges, their once-vibrant green now kissed with the faintest hint of gold, and the air had cooled ever so slightly, carrying the last whispers of summer on its breeze. The sun, dipping lower in the sky with each passing day, stretched long shadows across the park, casting everything in a warm, golden light that seemed to linger just for them.

Harry sat on the edge of the picnic blanket, his legs stretched out, his half-buttoned Hawaiian shirt loose against his chest, a playful pattern of palm trees and flamingos catching the light. His thin beige slacks clung to his thighs as he shifted slightly, leaning back on his hands to watch YN beside him. She was cross-legged, her cream-colored Mary Janes neatly tucked under her, the soft cotton of her dainty dress fluttering in the breeze. The dress, pale and delicate, fit her perfectly, the hem swaying just above her knees, while white socks peeked out from beneath her shoes. Harry couldn’t help but stare at her beauty.

The two of them had settled into this quiet evening by the lake, the park around them empty, save for the sound of distant birds and the occasional rustle of leaves in the trees. A spread of meats and cheeses lay scattered across the blanket between them, along with half a bottle of wine and two glasses—one tipped precariously between YN’s fingers as she took a slow sip.

“Could stay like this forever.” She hummed, her voice soft, almost dreamy, as she set her glass down and glanced out at the shimmering water, the fading sun casting a golden path across its surface.

Harry smiled, his gaze fixed on her rather than the view, the way her hair moved softly with the breeze, the glow of the setting sun painting her in amber light. “Yeah,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with something deeper. “I wouldn’t mind that.”

They had spent the last few hours like this—laughing, teasing, sharing kisses between bites of cheese and sips of wine. The conversation had flowed effortlessly, as it always did, weaving between light-hearted banter and quieter, more intimate moments, the kind where words weren’t always necessary. There was something so easy about being with her, something that made him feel like they were the only two people in the world.

She reached for a piece of cheese, popping it into her mouth as she met his eyes, her lips quirking into a playful smile. “You’ve been staring, Styles.” she teased, her voice light as she wiped her fingers on a napkin. “Am I that interesting, or are you just distracted?”

He grinned, shrugging slightly, but his gaze never wavered. “Maybe a bit of both.” He chuckled, his tone casual, though there was an undertone of honesty there. He couldn’t help it—every time he looked at her, he felt that familiar warmth bloom in his chest, the kind that had been growing steadily for months now, slowly but surely.

“Careful,” YN said with a mischievous smile, leaning in closer, her voice dropping into a whisper. “You’ll give me a big head.”

He laughed, the sound low and easy, before reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “Too late for that, I think.”

She swatted his hand playfully but leaned into his touch, her eyes softening as their playful exchange gave way to something quieter. For a moment, they just looked at each other, the laughter fading into a comfortable silence, the weight of the day settling over them like the blanket beneath their feet.

As the sun began to dip lower, casting the sky in hues of pink and lavender, YN shifted closer, resting her head against his shoulder. Harry tilted his head, pressing a soft kiss to her hair, his arm slipping around her waist to pull her in.

“I don’t know how you do it.” She murmured, her voice quiet, almost to herself.

“Do what?” he hummed, turning his head slightly to catch her eye.

She smiled softly, her fingers tracing lazily over the tattoos on his chest where his shirt hung open. “Make everything feel so easy. Like we’ve been doing this forever.”

Harry’s heart swelled at her words, a warmth spreading through him that had nothing to do with the wine or the fading summer heat. He didn’t respond right away, instead pulling her a little closer, his thumb brushing absentmindedly against her side as they sat together, the world quieting around them.

After a few moments, YN pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him, her eyes glowing with the light of the sunset. “What?” she asked, her brow lifting in curiosity as she caught the look on his face.

He hesitated, his heart pounding in his chest, the words suddenly heavy on his tongue. He’d been holding them back for weeks now, unsure of the right moment, unsure if she felt the same way. But sitting here, with her head on his shoulder, her laughter still lingering in the air around them, he realized there would never be a perfect moment. There was just this—the two of them, in a park, at sunset, with nothing but the quiet certainty of how much he cared for her.

He exhaled slowly, his hand slipping from her side to rest against her cheek, his thumb brushing gently over her skin. “I love you.” He admitted, his voice soft but steady, the words tumbling out in a quiet confession. “I’ve been wanting to say it for a while now, but I wasn’t sure when the right time was. But I do, YN. I love you.”

For a moment, YN just blinked, her eyes wide with surprise as the words sank in. But then, her face softened, a smile spreading slowly across her lips as her hand reached up to cover his, her touch warm against his skin.

“You love me?” she asked, her voice quiet, almost incredulous, as if she hadn’t expected it, but now that the words were there, she couldn’t imagine it any other way.

Harry nodded, his lips curving into a soft smile. “Yeah, I do.”

A laugh bubbled up from her throat, light and full of joy as she leaned in, pressing a kiss to his lips, soft and lingering. When she pulled back, her eyes were shining, her smile wide and unrestrained.

“I love you too.” She whispered, her voice full of warmth and certainty. “I think I have for a while.”

Harry’s heart swelled, and before he could say anything else, YN kissed him again, deeper this time, her fingers curling into his shirt as she pulled him closer. The world around them seemed to fade, the sunset casting them in a warm, golden light as they sat together, wrapped up in each other, the rest of the world falling away.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them breathless, YN smiled up at him, her hand still resting against his cheek. “You know,” she said, her voice teasing, “for someone who says things like that, you’re surprisingly cute about it.”

Harry laughed, his forehead resting against hers as his hands slipped around her waist, pulling her close. “I can’t help it,” he murmured, his voice low and playful. “Y’bring out the soft side in me.”

She grinned, her eyes sparkling as she leaned in to kiss him again, her lips brushing against his in a way that felt both familiar and brand new.

The sun had dipped beneath the horizon by the time Harry and YN began their walk back to his flat, the warm glow of twilight lingering in the air. Harry's fingers intertwined with hers as they strolled along the quiet streets, the last traces of their picnic still hanging in the air between them—the taste of wine on their lips, the feel of her laughter vibrating against his chest. He glanced over at her, catching the way the light from the streetlamps played across her face, softening her features into something that looked like a dream.

She smiled when she caught him looking, her thumb brushing lightly over the back of his hand. "Thank you for this evening.” Her voice was barely above a whisper as they walked. "I didn't want it to end."

Harry's grip on her hand tightened, his heart swelling at her words. He didn't want it to end either. There was something about this night, something about the way it felt so easy, so right. He hadn't felt this connected to someone in a long time, maybe ever.

"Doesn’t have to.” He murmured, his voice low, leaning in to press a soft kiss to her temple as they approached the front door of his flat.

They climbed the narrow stairs to his building, the warmth of their evening lingering between them.

By the time they reached the door to his flat, Harry's heart was racing-not from the climb, but from the anticipation that seemed to have woven itself into the quiet moments between them.

As soon as they stepped inside, they toed off their shoes—the familiar scent of his home washing over them—the faint musk of old books, wood, and the lingering trace of his cologne.

The kitchen light flickered on as Harry dropped the picnic basket onto the counter, the empty wine glasses clinking softly against each other. But neither of them was thinking about the picnic anymore.

YN turned toward him, her lips parted, her gaze soft but filled with something that simmered just beneath the surface. She stepped closer, her hand brushing against his as she placed the folded blanket down on the table, her fingers lingering over his skin. He met her gaze, the electricity between them sparking back to life, more intense now that they were alone, without the open sky and distant voices of the park around them.

Before either of them could say anything, Harry's hands were on her waist, pulling her close. His lips found hers in a heated kiss, soft at first, but quickly deepening as the warmth between them flared into something more urgent. YN responded immediately, her arms wrapping around his neck, her fingers tangling into his hair as she pulled him closer, her body pressing into his.

They stumbled back toward the living room, their movements clumsy with desire, knocking into furniture as they kissed—his hands gripping her hips, hers tugging at the collar of his shirt, the fabric hanging loosely on his chest, still unbuttoned from earlier, and YN's fingers found their way to his bare skin, her touch sending shivers down his spine.

They collapsed onto the couch, lips still fused together, the heat between them building with every touch, every breath. YN straddled his lap, her dress hitched up around her thighs as she leaned into him, her lips trailing kisses along his jawline, down his neck, making him groan softly against her skin. Harry's hands slid up her back, pulling her closer, lost in the moment, lost in her. His cock hardened underneath his slacks, YN feeling it against the growing heat of her core.

But just as his lips brushed against her collarbone, the sudden, shrill ring of the rotary phone in the hallway shattered the stillness, cutting through the heat of their embrace like a sharp blade.

Harry froze, his breath ragged, his lips still pressed against her skin. The phone rang again, the sound insistent, pulling them both from the haze they'd fallen into. YN let out a breathless laugh, her forehead resting against his as she pulled back slightly, her hands still tangled in his hair. "Are you going to get that?" she asked, her voice teasing but breathless, her eyes dark with the same desire that was coursing through him.

The brunette groaned, his hand reluctantly slipping from her waist as he rested his head back against the couch. "I don't want to.” He muttered, the frustration evident in his voice.

The phone rang again, louder this time, and Harry sighed, pulling away from her with a reluctant smile. "M’sorry, baby.” He sighed, his hands brushing against hers as he slid out from beneath her and stood, running a hand through his hair to steady himself.

YN sat back on the couch, her lips still swollen from their kiss, her breath coming in soft, uneven gasps. She watched him walk into the hallway, his bare chest glistening faintly in the low light, the fabric of his loose slacks swaying with each step.

Harry grabbed the phone from the wall, pressing the receiver to his ear with a hasty "Hello?"

"Harry, mate!" came the familiar voice of Jeff, his manager. "I've been trying to reach you for hours."

He frowned, his eyes flicking toward YN, who was still sitting on the couch, looking at him with a mixture of amusement and anticipation. "What's up, Jeff?" he asked, doing his best to sound casual, though his mind was still very much on YN and the way he wanted to bury himself inside her the way he did this morning.

"You're going to want to sit down for this one.” Jeff said, his tone brimming with excitement. “We've just locked in your first U.S. tour."

Harry's breath caught in his throat, his grip on the phone tightening. "What?"

"Yep, we've got you lined up for a string of shows across the States-New York, Chicago, L.A., the whole works. It's going to be massive, Haz. A real game-changer for your career."

For a moment, he stood there, his heart pounding in his chest, trying to process what Jeff was saying. This was huge-bigger than anything he'd done before. His first U.S. tour. The realization hit him all at once, a rush of excitement flooding through him. "Holy shit.” He laughed, “that's amazing, Jeff.” He shook his head, voice thick with disbelief. "I can't believe it."

"Believe it!”Jeff replied, laughing. "This is it.”

You're about to hit the big time. We'll get into all the details tomorrow, but I had to let you know."

Harry nodded, still in a bit of a daze. "Thanks for telling me."

After a few more words, Harry hung up the phone, his mind racing. He stood in the hallway for a moment, the reality of the tour sinking in. This was what he had always dreamed of—the chance to take his music across the world, to reach new audiences, to grow.

But as he turned back to look at YN, sitting there on the couch, her smile soft and expectant, he felt a different kind of weight settle in his chest. He walked back into the living room, sliding onto the couch beside her, his eyes still wide with disbelief.

"Everything okay?" YN asked, her hand slipping into his, her thumb brushing softly over his knuckles.

He nodded, a slow smile spreading across his face. "M’going on tour.” He said softly, the words still feeling surreal. "In the States. My first one."

YN's eyes widened, her face lighting up with excitement as she squeezed his hand. "H, that's incredible!" she exclaimed, leaning forward to press a kiss to his cheek. "I'm so so proud of you, lovey.”

Harry smiled, the warmth of her words settling into his chest. "It's a big deal," he said quietly, his hand tightening around hers. "But it means I'll be away f’a while."

He watched her face carefully, searching for any flicker of disappointment, but instead, YN smiled, her eyes soft as she leaned in, her forehead resting against his. "I know," she said softly. "But l'm not going anywhere. This is your dream. I want you to go and chase it."

Harry's heart swelled, and for a moment, he could only look at her, overwhelmed by the quiet support in her words. He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her lips, his hand cupping her cheek. "I love you.” He whispered against her mouth, the words tumbling out without hesitation this time, filled with all the certainty he'd ever felt.

She pressed a kiss into his lips, smiling against them. “I love you.”

Harry lingered his lips against hers for a while before he stood, the weight of the news still buzzing between them like electricity. His smile was wide, unable to contain the excitement of it all. With a quick glance toward the window, where the last traces of twilight hung in the sky, he crossed the room to the small transistor radio on the windowsill, his fingers turning the dial until a soft crackle of music filled the air.

A warm, upbeat tune drifted through the living room, the melody slow and sweet, with just the right amount of rhythm to sway to. The soft hum of the radio blended perfectly with the evening breeze sneaking through the open window, carrying the cool, fresh air into the flat.

He turned back to YN, his eyes twinkling under the dim light of the living room lamps. She was still sitting on the couch, her expression a mixture of excitement and affection, her legs tucked underneath her. The warm glow of the lamp caught the soft fabric of her dress, her skin glowing in the fading light.

“Dance with me.” Harry grinned, holding out a hand, his voice full of that playful warmth she had come to love. It wasn’t a question but an invitation—one she couldn’t possibly turn down.

She smiled, rising to her feet with a light laugh, taking his outstretched hand. He pulled her close, his arms wrapping around her waist as hers settled on his shoulders. The music filled the space between them, the gentle swaying of their bodies perfectly in time with the rhythm.

They moved together effortlessly, Harry’s forehead resting against hers as he led them in a slow circle around the room. The soft fabric of her dress brushed against his thin slacks, the warmth of her body pressed to his, making the moment feel intimate and timeless. Neither of them spoke at first, content to just be in the silence, to let the music carry them as they spun in small, lazy circles on the living room floor.

But soon, Harry couldn’t contain his excitement anymore. He leaned back slightly, grinning down at her, his eyes shining. “Can you believe it?” he murmured, his voice filled with disbelief and joy. “My first tour in America. New York, L.A.—all of it. I never thought..”

He trailed off, shaking his head slightly, as if still trying to wrap his mind around the idea.

“I can believe it.” She smiled, her voice soft but filled with pride. “You deserve this, baby. You’ve worked so hard. You’re going to be incredible.”

Her words made his heart swell, and he leaned down to kiss her, slow and sweet, savoring the taste of her lips. When they pulled back, their foreheads resting together again, he whispered, “It won’t feel real until I’m on that stage. But knowing you’ll be here waiting for me..that makes it better.”

YN smiled, her fingers brushing softly through the curls at the nape of his neck. “I’ll always be here.”

They danced for a few more minutes, their movements light and easy, occasionally interrupted by shared giggles when Harry twirled her unexpectedly or when they stumbled slightly in their steps, only to fall back into each other’s arms with soft laughter.

As the song began to fade, they slowed, their feet barely moving now, the intimacy of the moment wrapping around them like a cocoon. Harry’s hands slid up from her waist, cradling her face as he looked down at her, his expression serious but soft.

“Can I say something?”He asked, his voice quiet but steady as he watched her expectantly. She nodded, allowing his lips to part. “When I go to America—on tour—I want you t’stay here. At my flat. You know, while m’gone.”

YN blinked, caught off guard by the sudden seriousness in his tone. “Stay here?” she repeated, her brow furrowing slightly.

Harry nodded, his thumbs gently brushing over her cheeks as he held her face in his hands. “Yeah. I mean, y’already spend so much time here, and I like the idea of you being here when I get back. This place already feels more like home when you’re around. I don’t want it t’feel empty when m’gone.”

YN felt a warmth bloom in her chest at his words, her heart swelling with emotion. The thought of staying here, in his space, while he was away—it felt like more than just a casual offer. It felt like a promise. Like he was offering her a part of his life, a piece of him to hold onto while he was gone.

Besides, she still lived with her mother’s small guesthouse in the backyard. It was more private than the house she grew up in, much cheaper than the flats for rent in the city, but it was still her mother’s nevertheless.

“Are you sure?” she asked softly, her voice filled with uncertainty but also hope. “I don’t want to impose..”

“You’re not imposing,” Harry said firmly, his eyes steady on hers. “I want y’here. I’ll feel better knowing you’re in my flat, with my things, waiting for me to come back.”

YN’s lips curved into a soft smile, her hands resting on his chest as she nodded. “Okay,” she whispered, her voice full of warmth. “I’ll stay.”

Harry’s face lit up, and before she could say anything more, he kissed her again, deep and full of gratitude and love, his hands holding her close as if he never wanted to let her go. When they pulled back, both of them breathless, their eyes met, and in that moment, everything felt right.

They didn’t need to say anything more. The promise had been made, quiet and sure, between kisses and slow dances and soft words spoken in the fading light of the evening.

As the music on the radio continued to play softly in the background, they held each other close, swaying gently in the middle of the living room, knowing that no matter where Harry’s career took him—across oceans, to new stages, to new cities—this was home. Here, in this moment, with her. And it always would be.

The morning Harry left for his two-month tour in the United States felt both far away and painfully close, like something they’d been anticipating for weeks but weren’t quite ready to face. The flat was full of quiet anticipation as YN helped him pack, their movements unhurried, though the weight of the impending goodbye hung in the air like the last lingering warmth of summer.

Harry stood in front of his open suitcase, a floral shirt half-folded in his hands, staring down at the items already packed but not quite seeing them. YN sat on the edge of the bed, methodically folding a few more of his clothes, her fingers moving over the soft fabric with care. Neither of them spoke much, but every so often their eyes would meet, a small smile exchanged between them, both pretending it was just another ordinary day.

As Harry zipped up his suitcase, he turned to her, his expression soft but serious. “Y’sure you’ll be alright staying here? I mean, for the whole two months?”

She smiled, standing up to meet him, her arms looping around his waist as she pressed herself close to him. “I’ll be fine,” she whispered, her voice soft but steady. “Besides, it’s your flat. It already feels like home.”

He sighed, his hand slipping up to cup her cheek as he leaned down to kiss her, slow and tender, savoring the taste of her lips. “M’going to miss you.” He murmured against her mouth, his forehead resting against hers.

“I’ll miss you too.” She whispered back, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “But you’re going to be amazing, love. This is your dream.”

He nodded, though there was a flicker of hesitation in his eyes. They stood there for a moment, wrapped up in each other, the stillness of the flat pressing in around them.

When they arrived at the airport later that day, the weight of their goodbye became real. The terminal was buzzing with travelers, suitcases rolling over the tile floors, the constant hum of announcements echoing over the loudspeakers. Harry’s manager and a few of his crew stood off to the side, chatting quietly, but Harry stayed close to YN, his hand never leaving hers.

They found a quiet corner, away from the noise, and just stood there for a moment, looking at each other. The departure gate loomed nearby, a silent reminder of how close the moment had come.

“Call me as soon as you land.” YN nodded, her voice steady though her grip on his hand tightened slightly. “I want to know you’ve arrived safe.”

He smiled, leaning down to kiss her once more, his lips lingering on hers as if he could carry the memory of her with him. “I will.” He promised, his hand brushing her cheek. “And I’ll write. Every chance I get.”

She nodded again, swallowing back the lump in her throat. “I’ll be waiting.”

When the final boarding call echoed through the terminal, they kissed one last time, slow and full of unspoken promises, before Harry reluctantly pulled away. He squeezed her hand as he took a step back, his eyes never leaving hers.

“I love you.” He told her, his voice soft but sure, his eyes full of everything he couldn’t say in that moment.

“I love you, H.” She grinned, her heart aching as she watched him walk toward the gate, his figure disappearing into the crowd.

The next two months unfolded in a strange blur of time. YN settled into Harry’s flat, her things mingling with his, their shared space becoming even more of a home as the days passed. She left little traces of herself everywhere—the way she neatly folded her clothes next to his in the wardrobe, the half-finished book on his bedside table, the scent of her perfume lingering in the air. It was comforting, knowing she was surrounded by him even when he was an ocean away.

They kept in touch constantly. Every night, YN would sit by the rotary phone in the hallway, eagerly waiting for the sound of the ring that meant he was calling. The calls were frequent—sometimes brief, just to say hello, and sometimes long and winding, stretching late into the night as they talked about everything and nothing. She loved hearing his voice, even crackling through the static, as he told her about the tour—the shows, the fans, the whirlwind of new cities and stages. But more than that, she loved how he missed her, how he’d pause sometimes, in the middle of a sentence, just to say, I wish you were here.

Letters came too, scrawled in his messy handwriting, full of little stories about life on the road, about the places he visited, the things he saw, the moments that made him think of her. YN would read them late at night, curled up in his bed, her heart aching with longing and pride in equal measure. She kept every one, tucked away in the drawer of the bedside table, next to the book she hadn’t been able to finish since he left.

It was a month into his tour, past midnight, and YN had already settled into a chair she had dragged from the kitchen, the lamp casting a soft glow over the room as she sat by the phone, waiting for Harry’s nightly call. When the phone finally rang, her heart skipped a beat, and she eagerly lifted the receiver to her ear.

“Hey,” she said softly, her voice warm with affection.

“Hey, bunny,” Harry’s voice came through, a little rough but full of warmth. She could hear the faint noise of people talking in the background, but his focus was entirely on her. “Missed your voice today.”

YN smiled, curling the phone cord around her finger. “Missed you too. How’s everything?”

He sighed, the sound of his breath crackling through the line. “Busy. Exhausting. But good. The shows are going well. The crowds have been incredible.” He paused, his voice dropping slightly, his tone softening. “But I’d rather be there with you.”

Her heart fluttered at his words, her grip tightening on the phone. “I’d rather have you here too,” she whispered, her voice low, almost teasing. “It’s been too quiet without you. Though I’ve heard you on the radio here and there.”

The conversation drifted into more intimate territory, their voices soft and full of longing, each word laced with the quiet need they hadn’t been able to express in the letters or brief phone calls before. Harry told her how much he missed her, how the bed felt too big without her next to him, how he couldn’t stop thinking about the last night they’d spent together.

YN felt a blush rise to her cheeks, her breath catching in her throat as his words grew more heated. “Tell me more,” she whispered, her voice low, a smile playing at her lips.

Harry’s voice dropped even lower, his words slow and deliberate. “I miss the way you taste..like melted sugar on my tongue.”

The sound of his voice, soft and rough all at once, sent shivers down her spine. She closed her eyes, her body responding to his words in ways that made her ache with need.

“Probably soaking from just my voice, hm?” He hummed, feeling the familiar ache of himself hardening beneath denim.

She nodded, though he couldn’t see her. She squeezed her legs shut, her heat pooling between her thighs. Harry chuckled breathily from the other line, palming himself through his jeans. “My poor girl.” He cooed, listening to her faint whimper crackle through the phone. “I’ll be home in a month, baby.”

But just as the tension between them began to build, just as his voice grew more intimate, the sound of a knock echoed faintly in the background.

Harry groaned, the frustration clear in his voice. “Shit. It’s Mitch.”

YN laughed softly, the moment broken, but still charged with the tension that had hung between them. “You better get that,” she said, though she didn’t want the call to end.

“Give me a minute, yeah?” Harry muttered, the disappointment evident in his voice. “We’ll finish this later.”

YN smiled, her heart still racing, the wet spot in her panties only continuing to dampen. “I’ll hold you to that.”

There was a brief pause, the sound of Harry muffling the phone as he spoke to Mitch in the background. When he returned, his voice was quieter, more resigned. “I have to go. We’ve got soundcheck in a bit.”

YN sighed softly, her fingers tracing the edge of the phone. “Alright. Go be brilliant.”

“I’ll call you later,” Harry promised, his voice warm again, though still tinged with regret. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” YN whispered, her heart full as the line clicked and the dial tone hummed in her ear.

As she hung up the phone, the quiet of the flat settled around her again. But even in the stillness, she felt connected to him, the promise of his return always just beneath the surface. She stood up from the wooden chair, leaving it in place as she padded barefoot back to his bedroom. As she lay back in bed, the sound of his voice still echoed in her mind, she knew that no matter how far away he was, he would always feel close.

The late NOVEMBER air was crisp as YN made her way to the airport, her breath fogging in front of her with each step. The city had entered winter, the sky a moody shade of grey, with the kind of cold that bit into your skin if you stayed still too long. A light dusting of frost clung to the streets, and the wind carried with it the promise of snow. But despite the chill, there was a warmth spreading through YN's chest—an excitement she could hardly contain.

Harry was finally coming home.

It had been two long months since she’d kissed him goodbye at the airport, and though they had talked nearly every day, the distance had made the longing more acute, like an ache that refused to fade. The flat had felt too quiet, too empty without him, but tonight, that would change. Tonight, he would be back in London, back with her, and she couldn’t wait to wrap her arms around him again.

She had spent most of the day tidying up the flat—making sure everything was perfect for his return. His favorite records were stacked by the record player, the sheets on the bed freshly changed, and the faint scent of vanilla and cinnamon lingered in the air from the strawberry cake she had baked earlier. It was his favorite, and the smell of it made the place feel warm, cozy. She had also made his favorite pasta dish, the sauce simmering gently on the stove, filling the kitchen with the comforting aroma of home-cooked food.

As she reached the airport terminal, YN’s heart began to race with anticipation. The cold faded from her awareness as she entered the busy terminal, weaving through the crowds of travelers until she reached the arrivals gate. Her eyes scanned the sea of faces, searching for him, her breath catching in her throat every time she thought she spotted his familiar curls.

And then, there he was.

Harry stepped out from the crowd, his figure unmistakable even in the thick winter coat and scarf wrapped loosely around his neck. His hair was longer than she remembered, his cheeks flushed from the cold and travel, and his eyes were bright with excitement. When their eyes met, everything around them seemed to fade—the noise of the airport, the bustling travelers—all of it disappeared as they locked eyes.

“Harry!” YN called, her voice soft but full of joy as she broke into a run toward him.

He grinned, dropping his suitcase to the ground as he opened his arms wide, catching her as she threw herself into his embrace. The moment their bodies collided, YN felt a rush of warmth flood through her. She wrapped her arms tightly around him, burying her face in his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of him—warm, comforting, with the faintest trace of his cologne.

“I’ve missed you so much,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

“I’ve missed you too,” Harry mumbled, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. His hands slid up her back, holding her close, as if he were afraid to let her go. “You have no idea how good it feels to be home.”

They stood there for a few moments, lost in each other, the cold air of the terminal swirling around them but neither of them caring. When they finally pulled back, Harry cupped her face in his hands, his thumb brushing gently over her cheek as he studied her.

“You look even more beautiful than I remembered,” he said, his voice soft but full of sincerity.

YN laughed, her heart swelling as she leaned up to kiss him again, a quick, sweet press of lips that tasted of relief and longing. “Come on.” Her voice was light as she grabbed his hand and squeezing it gently. “Let’s get you home.”

The flat was warm and welcoming when they stepped inside, the heat from the oven and the soft glow of the lamps making the space feel cozy against the winter cold. YN had turned on the record player before she left, so the soft croon of a jazz tune filled the air, blending perfectly with the scent of fresh pasta and strawberries.

Harry dropped his suitcase by the door, his eyes lighting up as he took in the scene. “You’ve outdone yourself.” He sighed, his voice full of affection as he looked around the flat. “It smells incredible in here.”

YN smiled, slipping her coat off and hanging it by the door. “I wanted to surprise you.” Her tone was sheepish, leading him into the kitchen where the pasta dish was waiting on the counter. “I made your favorite. And…”

She reached for the cake on the counter, carefully placing it in front of him with a playful grin. “Strawberry, just for you.”

His eyes widened with delight as he leaned down to inspect the cake, his lips curving into a soft smile. “You spoil me.” He laughed, turning to her and pulling her into his arms again, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I love it. Thank you.”

They sat down at the kitchen table, the small space filled with the warmth of their reunion, their laughter mingling with the clink of cutlery and the soft hum of the record. As they ate, Harry told her all about his time in America—the shows, the fans, the cities he had visited.

“New York was something else,” he said, his eyes lighting up with excitement as he recounted the night he performed at a famous venue in the heart of the city. “The crowd was wild—bigger than anything I’d ever seen before. And Los Angeles.. God, the energy there was electric. But you know what? None of it felt real without you there.”

She smiled, her heart full as she listened to him speak, his voice full of passion and excitement. She loved seeing him like this—so alive, so full of stories and experiences. But more than that, she loved knowing that through it all, he had thought of her.

As the evening wore on, they moved to the living room, the plates forgotten in the kitchen as they curled up on the couch together, Harry’s arm draped lazily over her shoulders. They shared soft kisses between conversations, quiet declarations of love and how much they had missed each other filling the spaces between the stories.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” Harry confessed quietly, his fingers brushing lightly over her arm. “Every time I stepped off the stage, all I wanted was to call you, to hear your voice.”

She rested her head against his chest, smiling as his words wrapped around her like a blanket. “I felt the same,” she whispered. “I’ve been counting down the days until you came back.”

Harry tilted her chin up, his lips finding hers in a slow, intimate kiss. It was gentle at first, a soft meeting of lips that spoke of their longing, but as the kiss deepened, the intensity between them grew. They shifted on the couch, their bodies pressed close as the room grew warmer, the air between them thick with the weight of two months spent apart.

“I love you.” Harry murmured against her lips, his voice rough with emotion. “I missed you so much.”

“I love you too.” She smiled, her fingers tangling in his hair as she pulled him closer.

They stayed like that for a while, wrapped up in each other, their kisses slow and tender, until the quiet of the flat surrounded them once more. The night was peaceful, the city outside blanketed in winter cold, but inside, everything was warm and full of love.

As the record player continued to hum softly in the background, they lay together on the couch, content in each other’s arms, talking quietly into the night. Harry shared more stories of America—the friends he’d made, the strange food he’d tried, the nights spent traveling between cities. But no matter how far he had gone, no matter how many stages he had stood on, all he could think about was coming home to her.

And now, finally, he was.

JUNE 1958 arrived in a haze of blooming flowers and endless blue skies, the air warm with the promise of summer. The countryside stretched out in front of the beautiful English cottage Harry had purchased just months before—a place that felt far removed from the busy life they’d led on the road. The last six months had been a whirlwind of travel, music, and crowds, with Harry embarking on his biggest tour yet. It had started in the States, but when the tour expanded to Europe, he had begged YN to join him for the last three months. After some hesitation, she had agreed, unable to resist the thought of being by his side again, experiencing the world with him.

Now, they had finally come home.

The cottage was nestled on the edge of a quiet village, its stone walls covered in ivy, the roof gently sloping with aged charm. It had a large garden out front, filled with wildflowers, and a path that wound lazily around to the back, where rolling hills stretched out as far as the eye could see. Inside, the cottage was cozy, full of light streaming through the windows, with exposed wooden beams and a fireplace that had already become their favorite spot to curl up on colder evenings.

Though neither of them had said the words out loud, YN had moved in. It had been gradual, her things slowly trickling in from the flat they had shared in London. A few clothes here, a stack of her favorite books there, until the entire cottage was filled with the subtle signs of her presence. Her shoes next to his by the door, her perfume resting on the vanity in the bedroom, and her laughter echoing through the kitchen as they cooked together in the evenings.

The unspoken decision to live together felt natural, like the culmination of everything they had shared over the past year. They had grown even closer on the road, their bond deepening with each passing day. Those months in Europe, where they had traveled from city to city, felt like a dream—a blur of music, late-night conversations, and stolen moments just for the two of them amidst the chaos.

Now, in the quiet of their new home, they could finally rest.

On this particular afternoon, YN stood by the open window in the kitchen, the warm breeze gently lifting the curtains as she gazed out at the garden. She wore a simple summer dress, her hair loose, as she absentmindedly twirled a glass of lemonade in her hand. The air smelled of fresh-cut grass and the wildflowers that had bloomed in every corner of the garden. The cottage had a peaceful stillness to it, broken only by the faint sound of birds chirping outside.

Harry was in the living room, the soft strumming of his guitar floating through the open door. He was sitting in the armchair by the window, his eyes half-closed as he let his fingers move over the strings, playing a melody that felt like a lazy summer afternoon. The past few weeks had been a blissful sort of quiet—no deadlines, no schedules, just the two of them and the steady rhythm of days spent together.

As YN walked into the living room, Harry looked up from his guitar, his eyes brightening at the sight of her. “There you are, baby.” He smiled, voice soft with affection.

She smiled back, setting the glass of lemonade down on the table before crossing the room to sit beside him on the couch. Harry set the guitar aside and pulled her into his lap, his arms wrapping around her waist as she settled against him, her head resting on his shoulder.

“Hard to believe we’re really home, isn’t it?” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “After all that time on the road, I thought we’d never get here.”

She laughed softly, her fingers tracing absentminded circles on his chest. “I still can’t believe you talked me into joining you for the last three months,” she teased, her voice light but full of warmth. “But I’m glad I did. I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”

Harry grinned, his hand slipping up to cup her cheek as he looked down at her. “I couldn’t have done it without you,” he said, his voice quiet but full of sincerity. “It was hard enough being away from you at the start of the tour. Having you there–it made everything better.”

They sat like that for a while, the quiet of the cottage wrapping around them like a soft blanket, the distant hum of the countryside a soothing backdrop. It felt surreal, being here together after months of living out of suitcases, staying in hotels, and constantly moving from one city to the next. But now, in the calm of the English countryside, it felt like they had found something solid—something real.

“Y’know..” Harry mumbled after a moment, his voice thoughtful as he gazed out the window, “I’ve been thinking about something.”

YN looked up at him, her eyebrows raised slightly. “About what?”

Harry hesitated, his thumb brushing lightly over her cheek as he smiled softly. “About this–us… this house,” he began, his words slow but deliberate. “We’ve never really talked about it, but I love that y’here. That you’re living here. With me.”

YN’s heart fluttered at his words, her fingers tightening slightly on his shirt as she looked up at him. “I love it too,” she whispered, her voice full of warmth. “Feels like home.”

Harry smiled, a soft, almost relieved laugh escaping him as he leaned down to kiss her. It was a slow, tender kiss, full of all the unspoken promises they had made to each other over the past year. When they pulled back, Harry’s forehead rested against hers, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Let’s make this official then,” he murmured, his lips brushing against hers. “Move in with me properly. Let’s call this place ours.”

Her eyes softened, her heart swelling with emotion as she nodded, her lips curving into a smile. “I already have.” she whispered, kissing him again.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a peaceful blur. They moved through the cottage together, side by side, making dinner in the cozy kitchen. Harry stirred a pot of sauce while YN sliced vegetables, the two of them stealing kisses in between tasks, their laughter filling the space. The evening sunlight poured through the windows, casting the room in a warm glow as they sat down at the small table for dinner.

As they ate, Harry told her stories from the tour—stories she hadn’t heard, little moments that had made him laugh or think of her. He spoke about the cities they’d visited, the people they’d met, and the way the crowds had grown bigger with each show. But through it all, his eyes kept drifting back to her, his words trailing off as he reached for her hand, his thumb brushing lightly over her knuckles.

“You were the best part of it all,” he said softly, his voice full of affection. “You being there with me. Every time I walked off stage and saw you waiting, it made everything worth it.”

After dinner, they moved back to the living room, curling up on the couch together as the last light of the day faded into dusk. The fireplace crackled softly in the corner, and the air was filled with the comforting smell of woodsmoke. They stayed like that for hours, wrapped in each other’s arms, talking quietly about the future—about the cottage, about what they wanted to do next.

As the evening began to settle, they both stood side by side at the sink, washing the dishes in comfortable silence. The window above them was cracked open slightly, letting in the cool evening breeze that carried the scent of freshly cut grass and blooming flowers. Beyond the window, the sun was sinking slowly beneath the hills, casting the sky in shades of pink and orange, the last light of the day stretching long shadows across the garden.

YN handed Harry a plate, her fingers brushing against his as he took it from her, their quiet rhythm so familiar now. He dunked it into the warm, sudsy water, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he scrubbed at the remnants of their dinner. Every so often, he’d glance at her, a small smile playing on his lips as he watched her work.

“You’ve gotten good at this.”YN teased, elbowing him lightly. “I remember when you used to burn toast.”

Harry laughed, the sound light and full of warmth. “That was a long time ago.” He quipped, turning to splash a bit of soapy water in her direction with a playful grin.

YN gasped, dodging the spray with a laugh of her own, but not before flicking some of the suds back at him. Her eyes glinted with mischief as she dipped her hands into the water, gathering a handful of bubbles.

“Oh, are we playing dirty now?” Harry teased, his eyes narrowing as he scooped up his own suds.

Before she could answer, he splashed her again, the warm soapy water catching her on the arm. YN laughed, retaliating by flinging bubbles at him, the kitchen filling with the sound of their playful banter and the splash of water against the counter. The dishes forgotten for the moment, they both moved around the sink, ducking and dodging each other’s playful attacks, the air filled with their laughter.

Harry caught her by the waist, pulling her close as he wiped some of the bubbles from her cheek with a playful grin. “Alright, truce!” He giggled, his voice softening as he looked into her eyes.

She smiled, her laughter dying down as she leaned into him, her hands resting against his chest. “Truce.” She agreed, her eyes still sparkling with amusement.

They both turned back to the sink, their laughter lingering in the air as they finished the last of the dishes. The warmth between them was palpable, and even as the sun began to dip lower, casting the room in a soft, golden glow, there was a sense of peace that wrapped around them like a blanket.

As they dried their hands on a shared towel, YN turned to look out the window. The sun had nearly disappeared behind the hills, the sky now painted in deep hues of purple and orange, the last light of day clinging to the horizon.

“S’pretty here.” She murmured, her voice soft as she watched the sunset.

Harry set the towel aside, stepping up behind her, his arms slipping around her waist as he pulled her close. “It is.” He agreed quietly, though his eyes weren’t on the sunset. They were on her.

For a long moment, they stood like that, the warm evening air drifting through the open window, the world outside quiet and still. There was a calm that had settled over them, a quiet contentment that came from being in the presence of someone who knew you—really knew you—and loved you anyway.

Harry pressed a kiss to her temple, his lips lingering there for a moment before he pulled back slightly, his arms still wrapped around her.

“I want to be with you forever.” He admitted suddenly, his voice soft but steady. It wasn’t a question or even a declaration, just a simple truth spoken into the stillness of the moment. His words carried the weight of something deeper, something unshakeable. “Not just for now. Not just for a few years. Forever.”

YN turned in his arms, her heart skipping a beat as she looked up at him, her eyes searching his face. His expression was serious, but there was a warmth there too, a quiet certainty in his gaze that made her chest tighten.

His hands moved to cradle her face, his thumbs brushing gently over her cheeks as he looked down at her, his voice lowering to a soft murmur. “I love you.”He smiled. “More than I ever thought I could love someone. And I don’t just mean in this life. I mean in every life. Beyond this, even. If I could have forever with you, I would. That’s what I want.”

She felt a rush of emotion swell in her chest, her throat tightening at the depth of his words. She could see it in his eyes—the way he meant every word, the way this wasn’t just about a lifetime, but about something that transcended even that. It wasn’t a proposal, but it felt like a promise. A vow that he would love her no matter what, no matter how long or how far life took them.

“I want that too.”She whispered, her voice catching slightly as she reached up to brush a curl away from his forehead. “Forever sounds just right.”

His smile softened, his forehead resting against hers as he exhaled, his breath warm against her skin. “Then it’s settled.” He murmured, his lips brushing against hers in a tender kiss, soft and slow, full of all the love he couldn’t put into words.

They stood like that for a long moment, the kitchen bathed in the last light of the sunset, the quiet of the evening wrapping around them as they held each other close. The world outside felt far away, and in that moment, nothing else mattered but the two of them, standing together in the cottage they now called home.

When they finally pulled back, Harry’s hand slipped down to take hers, his fingers intertwining with hers as he led her toward the living room. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting a warm glow over the room as they curled up together on the couch, the soft murmur of their voices filling the space between the gentle flicker of flames.

And as the evening stretched on, they spoke of dreams and plans, of all the little things that made life beautiful. But in the quiet, in the spaces between the words, they both knew that they had already found what they were searching for—each other.

Forever.

#harry styles #harry edward styles #harry styles blurb #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles writing #harry styles x reader #harry styles concept #harry styles au #dont worry darling #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst

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stuiie · 23 days ago

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Happy Halloween - The Color of You

Words: 1084 Warnings: None Authors note: Since we're in the wrong season for TCOY, I put together this little one-shot for you! I’ve been super busy this weekend, so it's a bit short but I hope you’ll enjoy it anyway!

You were late—catastrophically late—and you knew it as you sprinted down the sidewalk, trying your best to ignore the surprised stares from strangers. But it was impossible to avoid their looks with the bright yellow feathers sticking out in every direction. Still, you pressed on, making a heroic dash to Wanda and Natasha’s place, desperately hoping to blend into the Halloween crowd.

The second you burst through the door, you crashed right into Yelena, who took one look at you and exploded with laughter, doubling over as she struggled to catch her breath.

“Oh my god!” she choked, tears already forming at the corners of her eyes. “What… what are you supposed to be? A giant canary? Big Bird’s love child?” She gasped for air, holding her stomach as she shook with laughter.

You looked down, flushed with embarrassment, and tugged at the bright yellow costume. “It’s a duck costume,” you muttered, pulling the hood over your head a little more defensively. “Nat and Wanda wanted me to wear it,” you grumbled, making a small face as Yelena slid to the floor laughing hysterically. “Come on, it’s not that funny!”

“Oh, trust me Ducky, it’s even funnier than you think,” Yelena managed, practically rolling around with laughter. She pointed around the room where, of course, everyone was dressed in sleek, stylish, and effortlessly cool costumes. Even Yelena looked fierce in her assassin’s outfit complete with silver daggers. Meanwhile, you… looked like you’d waddled straight out of a children’s petting zoo, feeling the warm flush of embarrassment rise up your neck.

You were about to protest when you heard familiar footsteps approaching.

“What’s going on out here?” came Wanda’s voice, her tone as smooth and soothing as always. She stepped around the corner, her gorgeous sorceress costume catching the light, and froze the moment her eyes fell on you.

Oh no.

Wanda’s hand flew up to her mouth, her emerald eyes sparkling with amusement. A small smile curved her lips as she called out, “Natasha, you have to come see this!”

Seconds later, Natasha appeared, her dark, glittering assassin attire matching Yelena’s, every inch of her the picture of deadly elegance. When her gaze fell on you, her jaw dropped, then her lips slowly spread into an amused smile as her eyes flickered to Wanda who approached you.

“Look at you, my sweet little duckling. I could just eat you up,” Wanda cooed, stepping closer and brushing a few yellow feathers off your cheek. Her eyes danced with barely contained laughter, but she still softened her voice as if she were speaking to a precious little pet. “Aren’t you just the cutest little thing?”

Yelena was practically in tears now. You nudged her with your oversized webbed foot, trying to fight the rising blush in your cheeks. “It’s not funny,” you hissed, although even you had to admit you probably looked ridiculous.

“Oh, it absolutely is,” Natasha chuckled, stepping closer with a glint in her eye. “You’re literally our little duckling now, all fluffy and bright!” She reached out and gave your cheek a playful pinch, and you batted her hand away with an indignant pout.

“Don’t act so surprised!” you protested, trying to salvage what little dignity you had left. “The note said I was supposed to wear this. It was signed by both of you!”

Natasha raised her eyebrows, exchanging a glance with Wanda, who was now biting her lip so hard she might’ve drawn blood. “Darling, what are you talking about?” Natasha said, inspecting the yellow fuzz with barely contained glee. “We didn’t send you that costume. But I must say, it’s quite a look on you.”

Wanda’s hand slid down to her hip as she eyed you, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. “Whoever sent it clearly knew how to pick the perfect look for you, sweetie,” she teased. “But I think we would have remembered if we had chosen something so… memorable.”

You narrowed your eyes, your mind racing through possible suspects. Just then, you heard the sound of heels clicking on the floor behind you, and you turned to find Val, dressed to the nines in a jet-black suit with a snakes for hair like Medusa. Her eyes practically gleamed as she took in the sight of you.

“Ah, there’s the little duckling,” came Val’s smooth, rich voice, laced with dark amusement. She leaned casually against the doorway, taking in your feathered costume with an expression of barely contained delight. Her eyes glinted wickedly, dark and amused, as she folded her arms and smiled. “I’ll be honest, I was betting you’d just wear something cute. But this?” She smirked, gesturing to the yellow fur. “This is adorable.”

You stared at her, feeling the flush creep back into your cheeks as the pieces fell into place. “Val…” you began, your tone a mix of accusation and mortification. She raised a brow, the corner of her mouth curling up even further. “This… this wasn’t your idea, was it?”

“Oh, darling,” Val cooed, tilting her head as her dark eyes sparkled with a wicked delight, “I could never resist such an opportunity. It’s Halloween, after all. And look at you, I just knew the sweet little duckling suit would look absolutely perfect on you. And judging by the reactions, I’d say I was right.”

Natasha chuckled, shaking her head. “Oh, Val, you’re absolutely wicked.”

Wanda leaned close, wrapping an arm around you and whispering with a playful smile, “She may be wicked, but our little duckling looks adorable.” She tapped your nose gently, her expression warm and affectionate. “And now everyone can see how cute you are.”

Mortified yet secretly touched, you let out a resigned sigh and accepted your new role as the group’s beloved duckling. With Wanda and Natasha linking their arms through yours, they led you deeper into the Halloween party, ignoring the amused glances from the other guests.

Across the room, Val raised her glass to you with a amused smirk, her dark eyes gleaming in the dim light. You shook your head with a rueful grin, flicking her off with a smile as she playfully snapped her teeth in response, her grin only widening.

And then, just as you were starting to relax, Natasha pulled you in for a soft, lingering kiss. Your heart fluttered, and you couldn’t help but smile against her lips, feeling the warmth of their affection settle around you like a cozy embrace as Wanda’s fingers trailed down your back.

Maybe being their little duckling wasn’t so bad… at least for one night.

#the color of you #wandanat x reader #natasha romanoff #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #natasha romanoff x reader

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ladykailitha · 3 months ago

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The Caged Bird Still Sings Part 4

Just a heads up tomorrow is the start of my posting hiatus. I will still do WIP Wednesdays and will be posting headcanons and stuff like that during that time. I will begin posting again on Sunday Sept. 1st. I haven't decided which story will get each slot, or if I just post based on vibes. Most likely vibes if I'm honest.

In this we get the first of Eddie's presents to Steve, Eddie refutes the stupid Steve charges, and Steve remembers something important that he forgot.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Steve was living it up in the pool. His parents had an outdoor heated pool, but it was more for leisure than laps because of it’s weird oblong shape. But this? It had an outdoor pool, but the indoor pool was Olympic sized. Like proper with the lane lines painted on the bottom and everything.

So he practiced his backstroke and butterfly. And by the time he got out his muscles were deliciously sore and his skin was wrinkly. He showered and then padded over to the sauna to relax his ache muscles.

As he was the only one there, he set the temperature to slightly hotter than warm but not scorching. He wanted to rest his muscles not sweat out every toxin in his body. Once he was feeling good enough, he got dressed and walked back to his hotel.

He looked at the swimsuit in his hand and realized he wouldn’t have do laundry here if he didn’t want to. Wow. His mom always made him do his laundry even though they had a maid who would wash his parents’.

Steve looked at his watch and decided it was time for some dinner. He threw the swimsuit into the laundry basket and went to go blow dry his hair. He pulled out his but then noticed the one already on the counter. His eyes flicked between the two and there was no doubt that the one the hotel provided was way better than his.

He put his back in his bag and turned on the hotel’s hair dryer. It never overheated or would start to smell half way through the process. He ran a little gel through his hair and spritzed his hair three times with the hair spray.

He admired himself in mirror a moment. He was good looking. He knew that. But he never in his wildest dreams thought he had the looks to pull a rockstar. Like that was crazy levels of confidence. But looking in the mirror just now, maybe he could see what Eddie saw.

Steve walked up the table that had his wallet and picked it up. He pulled out his fake ID, the one that got him this cushy hotel room. He wouldn’t be able to use it for god knows how long, but he wanted to keep it. As a memento of sorts. God. He was already feeling melancholic about the whole thing and it had only been five hours.

That was when he spotted it. On the bed was a big white box. He frowned and walked up to it slowly. He wasn’t worried about people getting in. This was a hotel. It was probably put there by housekeeping or even the concierge. He knew better than to keep anything in his room that might interest a snoop.

He just wondered who gave it to him. He picked up the card and read it.

-To my little Canary

A parting gift from me.

Promise me you’ll wear it and think of me often

-Your Eddie

Steve lifted the lid of the box and inside was the most beautiful silk pajamas he had ever seen. It was a short-sleeved button up that stopped just an inch or so below the waistband of the matching shorts. The shorts themselves weren’t very long, not quite booty shorts level, but close. Both in a soft, light yellow color. Perfect for summer time.

He ran over to the phone and quickly dialed Eddie’s cellphone.

“Hello?” the warm, dulcet tones answered.

“Eddie?” Steve asked, even he knew it was. He was just so excited.

“My little Canary,” Eddie purred. “I take it you got your present.”

“I did,” Steve said, twirling the cord around his finger. “They’re beautiful. I can’t wait to wear them tonight.”

“Good,” Eddie said, a smile evident in his tone. “I hope I go the size right. Did you do anything fun today?”

Steve told him all about his day swimming and the sauna. He even told him about the hair dryer because he was just that excited about it all.

“That sounds great, little Canary,” Eddie said, his fondness oozing through in his tone. “I’m sending someone by with a card that I will load money on so that you can get things like gas for your car and other things for your personal hygiene, as I assume you’ll want to buy that stuff yourself.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” Steve found himself saying, almost against his will. “Could have gotten by with the hotel toiletries.”

Eddie chuckled. “Probably, but I wanted to give you the option of a choice.”

Steve blushed deeply, glad that Eddie couldn’t see him in that moment.

“Look, little Canary,” Eddie purred, “we just got to our location and I have to go, but I’ll call you after the show and tell you all about it.”

Steve bit his lip. “Yeah, I’ll talk then.”

He hung up after they said their goodbyes with a sigh. He flopped on the bed and looked up at the ceiling.

Fucking hell. What was he even doing with his life?

His stomach growled. Well, for starters, he guessed he was going to dinner.

When Steve finished his meal, which was even better than breakfast...He never had a steak melt in his mouth like that before. It was so soft and buttery and the potatoes tasted of rosemary and garlic, the carrots were covered in a glaze that tasted of honey and something darker.

He shook his head.

Anyway.

When he finished his dinner he went back up to the room. He resolved that he would need to do more than just swimming to keep the delicious food off his waistline. He was going to have to check out the gym here.

Steve looked at the time and decided it was too early for bed, but he got into the new pajamas anyway. The shorts were pulled on first and fuck. Steve felt sinful just wearing the damn things. They cupped him in all the right places but when he moved or sat down they didn’t ride up or pinch. He seriously thought about not putting on the shirt at all. But the desire to see the full effect won out.

He pulled it on and buttoned it up. And just like the shorts, the top was form fitting but comfortable. The V in the neck from where the highest button went (it didn’t button all the way up) just showed a peek of his chest hair.

He admired himself in the mirror for several minutes before he forced himself to go back out to the suite.

Steve grabbed the remote and started flipping the channels. He was used to cable as his mother needed her HSN and his father needed the soccer score. Not because he was interested in the game, but because he’d bet on foreign games.

But either his parents only had basic cable or there were a bunch of new channels added recently. And he was willing bet it was the former.

He found a late night baseball game from a Japanese league and started watching that. He couldn’t understand the announcers and he didn’t know the players’ names, but it was still baseball, regardless the language.

Before he knew it the game was over and it was late at night, finally time for bed. He got all snuggled into bed when the phone rang.

“‘Ello?” he muttered sleepily.

“Oh, darlin’,” the warm tones caressed his ear, “did I wake you?”

Steve hummed in the negative. “Just getting ready to sleep. Tell me all about selling out Indy.”

Eddie huffed out a laugh. “I’d ask you how you knew Corroded Coffin sold out tonight, but you spent all of last night surrounded by my fans. Even the stupidest person on the planet would have had to pick something up.”

“Mhmm,” Steve murmured. “That’s me, stupidest person on the planet.”

There was silence on the line for a moment or two. “Who says you’re dumb, baby?”

“My parents,” he said softly, “my first girlfriend before I realized I was gay, my ex-boyfriend, you know the one my parents kicked me out for? And um...the kids I babysat for are all like super geniuses, so they get frustrated with me a lot.”

“Oh my little Canary,” Eddie cooed. “You’re not dumb. School smarts isn’t everything. I’m living proof of that.”

“That’s true,” Steve said, a little less sad. “I’m talking to a bona fide rockstar.”

“Hell yeah you are,” Eddie agreed. “But let me tell you about my night and see if I can’t lull you to sleep with the sound of my voice.”

“I’d really like that.”

So that’s what Eddie did, he talked and talked until he could hear the soft little snuffling of snores from his Canary.

“Good night, sweetheart.”

When Steve woke up the next morning, the phone was still dangling off the cradle from where it fallen the night before when he fell asleep listening to Eddie.

Eddie had a great talking voice. Dude should do books on tape or voice acting or something. Maybe he’d tell him the next time he called.

He stretched and yawned. He woke up just as well rested today as he had yesterday. Which meant that as good as the sex was, and it was amazing, it wasn’t as big a factor in his night’s sleep as he thought.

He got up and went to go grab a shower. He hadn’t had a chance to use it yet, as he had used the swimming pool’s showers yesterday. He ordered breakfast and then hopped into the shower, telling them to just come in and leave it next the sofa.

He dried off with one of the most luxurious towels.

Steve stopped for a moment. He really needed to stop comparing the hotel to the life he led before being kicked out. It wasn’t the same. It wasn’t even in the same state let alone ball park. His life here would always be miles away from the life he left behind.

New cage, same as the old cage really except real gold instead of merely gilded. Better food, furniture, amenities. Same limitations. Can’t drink, but he could smoke.

So he went out on the balcony to do just that. He brought his food out with him and just smoked, watching the busy crowd below him.

Oh shit!

He scrambled back inside the hotel room and fumbled around for his wallet. He pulled out a little laminated card and dialed the one on the top.

“Henderson residence, Claudia speaking,” the warm motherly voice answered.

“Mrs. Henderson,” Steve whined, almost in tears at the sound of her voice.

“Steve?” she asked gently. “Oh I was wondering when you were going to call. Dustin has been worried sick. He went to Family Video yesterday to return “Ghostbusters” and the snooty girl at the counter said you’d been fired for sodomy!”

He winced a little at the harsh word she used. “I–I’m gay, Mrs. Henderson,” he whimpered into the phone. This was it, she was going to turn him away too. Forbid Dustin from seeing him, then it would get around to the all the other parents and he wouldn’t be able to be around Holly or Will. And–

“Ah...” she said, just as gentle and warm as before. “Can you help it? Can you choose who you love?”

“No, ma’am,” he whispered, hanging his head between his shoulders.

“Then why would I care?” Claudia huffed in annoyance. “The first thing a mother should learn is to love your child no matter what, no matter who. Now, if Dusty gives you a hard time, you let me know. You hear?”

Steve felt a swell of pride in his chest, she might have not had been his real mother, but he should have known better than to bet against Claudia Henderson.

“Here, let me go get him,” she said softly. “Would you like me to explain it to him first?”

A lump formed in his throat as he choked down tears. He forgot he wasn’t isolated. He wasn’t cut off completely from people.

“Yeah,” he said, his lip quivering. “If you would.”

“Of course, sweetie,” Claudia said warmly. “I’ll be right back.”

Steve didn’t have long to wait. Soon there was the sound of Dustin practically screaming in his ear.

“Hey, bud,” he said when he could finally get a word in.

There was a sniffle. “Why didn’t you call me and Ma? We would have taken you in.”

Steve’s heart swelled again, this time in utter love for this butthead. “Because my dad would have seen to it that she lost her job at the library and with your dad having just passed, I couldn’t do that to you, to either of you, okay?”

There was another sniffle. “Okay...”

“Here,” Steve said, “I can’t tell you where I am right now, because no doubt my dad is trying to run me out of town, but I can give you a phone number to call. I might not always be there, but you can leave a message and I’ll call you back.”

“I guess that’s acceptable,” Dustin huffed. “Can I tell everyone you’re okay?”

Everyone meant his kids. Max, Elle, Will, Mike, Lucas, and Erica. And well, Holly, too. But she was too young to really understand what was going on. Technically Erica should be in that same category but she was too smart to be left out. Steve didn’t even bother trying most days.

“Yeah, bud,” he murmured. “You can tell people I’m safe. Just keep the number to yourself for now. I don’t want my dad knowing where I am.”

“Roger that!” Dustin said.

They talked for a few moments longer before Claudia took the phone back.

“I’m going to call the PTA calling tree,” she said, “and get the word out that you’ll be unavailable to babysit for the foreseeable future.”

Steve hummed. “I think that’s the part that upsets me the most about all this shit.”

“I know, sweetie,” Claudia assured him. “But we’ll figure it out.”

And he was absolutely certain if anyone could, it was Claudia Henderson.

He let out a sigh of relief for the first time since he was kicked out.

Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14

Tag List: CLOSED MAX LIMIT 50 REACHED!!!

1- @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog @beelze-the-bubkiss

2- @gregre369 @a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @cryptid-system

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @justforthedead89 @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji

5- @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @sticknpokelightningbolt

9- @scoops-aboy86 @kurofuckingshi16 @watermelonmite @eyehartart @dreamercec

10- @little-birch-boy @yearningagain @micheledawn1975 @blondie1006 @sadisticaltarts

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #age difference #ten years between steve and eddie

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ichorai · 2 years ago

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sunlight ; jesse pinkman.

track thirteen of WASTELAND, BABY!

pairing ; jesse pinkman x gn!reader

synopsis ; yellow was not a color he often saw in alaska. that was, until you came into his life.

words ; 4.2k

themes ; fluff, angst, slice of life, writer au

warnings / includes ; breaking bad & el camino spoilers, mentions of death/walter/drugs/the nazi group that imprisoned him, jesse is just Traumatized, reader is a sweetheart, jesse befriends a Cat <3

main masterlist.

The color yellow often resurfaced bad memories of his past. Yellow were the hazmat suits he wore with Walt when they cooked meth. Yellow were Jane’s bed sheets when she overdosed right next to him. Yellow were the broiling sands of New Mexico—a place he once called home.

Now that he was in Alaska, yellow was a color he scarcely ever saw. And for that he was glad. Mostly, it was white. With snow—with clouds. Maybe a dash of brown and grey here and there, alongside the occasional green once in a while.

It was quiet. Peaceful.

After everything, a bit of peace was all that Jesse needed.

That is, until you came along.

The first time he met you, you were decked out in an array of soft canary-hued clothes, certainly a sight that he wasn’t expecting at all. You were smiling brightly, so wide that it was a wonder your face hadn’t split into two. There was a basket in your hands, which held nothing other than around a dozen ripe lemons.

“Urm, hello?” Jesse hesitantly greeted, opening the door wider.

“Hi, I’m Y/N. Sorry for dropping by all of a sudden—I live around five minutes away, and there’s barely anybody that lives near me other than grouchy old Bob, so when I found out someone had moved into this shabby little cabin, I just couldn’t help but stop by! Here, I got you a little house-warming gift. I hope you like lemons!” You held the basket out to him, still beaming ever so kindly.

Awkward, Jesse took the lemons from you, his free hand rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Ah, thanks. I’m Jared. Jared Driscoll.”

“Well, it’s really nice to meet you, Jared. Hope it’s not weird for me to say that it’s great to see a young face around,” you told him, rocking back on your heels. “Most people living around here are over sixty.”

Memories of Walter, Saul, and Mike flashed in the back of his mind, and he could nearly feel the physical pressure weighing down on his chest. He squared his jaw and pushed the thoughts away.

“Yeah,” replied Jesse, nodding. “Thanks again, for, uhm, these.”

He was just about to shut the door again, mentally smacking himself for being so tongue-tied, before you gently asked, “If you’re not doing anything tonight, I’d love to have you over for dinner. No pressure, though, I’d totally understand if you’d want to settle in first.”

No, was right on the tip of his tongue. No thanks, I’m a little busy with unpacking my stuff. I mean, I don’t have any stuff, but you don’t need to know that.

But the words caught in his throat. You looked so hopeful, your hands clasped behind you and your eyes wide with excitement. You were still smiling—how were you still smiling? His eyes darted down to your yellow cardigan rustling with the frigid Alaskan wind.

“Uhm, alright,” he replied, shooting you a tight smile that came off more like an uncomfortable grimace than anything, but at least he was trying.

Somehow, you seemed to brighten even more at his response.

“Cool, is seven okay with you? I still need to clean up a bit before dinner.”

Jesse nodded wordlessly, a strange, giddy warmth pooling into his abdomen—a feeling he hadn’t felt in a very, very long time. It was excitement. Jesse couldn’t remember the last time he’d genuinely been excited for something.

“Alright, to get to my place, you just walk up the main road for a while, until you see a fork in the road—take a right, and walk for a bit, then you’ll see my house. In case you wanna make sure it’s my place, the mailbox has a pink handprint on it, but I doubt you’ll get confused—it’s not a very crowded neighborhood, huh?”

Jesse thanked you again as you left, smiling at you—genuinely, this time.

Two packs of crushed crackers were gripped within one of his hands. It was all he had in his pantry, and he didn’t know what the etiquette was like around here, so he brought them just to be safe.

There was a lot of yellow to your house. He caught sight of the lemon tree in the corner of your living room, situated right against a window for optimum sunlight. You had a pale yellow carpet beneath the dining table, and sheer curtains hanging over the window of the same shade. You even had a little white cat, who had wound around Jesse’s legs with a mewl, staring up at him with large amber eyes.

You apologized profusely, bending down to pick her up. “Sorry, she’s not usually this friendly around strangers. This is Yuki—means snow in Japanese.”

A smile itched at the corner of his lips. “No worries. I’m cool with cats. I, uh, I like her name.”

Seemingly relieved, you put Yuki back down, and ushered him to the table. In the center was a clear vase, holding a variety of ochre and purple wildflowers.

“Hope you’re alright with spaghetti—I’m not that great of a cook, but I make a mean spaghetti,” you said, grinning as you disappeared into the kitchen to brandish a large bowl of pasta. His stomach growled at the smell of marinara sauce—he couldn’t remember the last time he had a decent bowl of warm, homemade food.

“No, yeah, that’s great,” he reassured. Silence stretched between the two of you as you began to ladle heapfuls of the noodles onto his plate, making sure to add a generous helping of meatballs with it. Awkwardly, he cleared his throat. “I haven’t had the chance to thank you, so… thanks.”

You grinned at him kindly, before sitting right across from him. “It’s no problem, I promise. To be honest, it gets really lonely here sometimes. I’m glad you moved in.”

Jesse could only give you a small smile in return, before digging into his food. It was better than anything he’d had in months, though it wasn’t much of a competition. The past few weeks had been nothing but stale sandwiches and tough jerky that wore out his jaw.

“This is really good,” he said around a mouthful of pasta, forgetting his tableside manners for a moment. You didn’t seem to mind, only beaming all the brighter.

“I’m glad! Wish I could grow my own fresh tomatoes to make the sauce with but—it’s almost always freezing cold here,” you chuckled lightly. You twirled some pasta over your fork. “Which is why I grow lemon trees—they can withstand the cold pretty well.”

“How long have you been living here?” asked Jesse, finding himself genuinely curious about you.

You hummed in thought. “Four years ago, I think. I just needed some peace and quiet—and where better than Alaska, you know? I’m a writer, see, and I used to think that I had to live in a bustling city to make connections and meet more people in the industry to be successful but… I don’t know, I think a part of me always felt trapped in a corner. I feel free here.”

“Yeah,” replied Jesse, distant. “I get that. So, uh, you’re a writer, huh? What do you write?”

“Short stories, mostly. Sometimes I dabble in longer novels, and sometimes I’ll dip my toe into nonfiction. Depends on what my publishers want from me and also what I personally want to write,” you said, before taking a sip of water. Blanching, you quickly added, “Oh, I’m so sorry, you’re my guest and I haven’t even asked a single thing about you. What about you? What’re you doing up in the middle of nowhere, Alaska, Jared?”

The new name felt so foreign—so strange coming from you. He wondered how it’d sound if you said his real name. Jesse.

At your question, a myriad of memories flashed into the front of his thoughts once more. Mike, Walt, Jane, Badger, Skinny Pete, the meth, the drugs, his parents…

He pursed his lips.

Sensing he was a bit uncomfortable, he was surprised when you only nodded in gentle understanding, quietly saying, “It’s alright. You don’t have to tell me. We all have our reasons.”

The reassuring smile that quirked the corner of your lips upward made his heart just a little heavier. You were just so… nice. It was a bit baffling. An extremely stark comparison to his time kept prisoner by the group of Nazis.

“You got space for dessert?” you queried, tilting your head in the most adorable of ways, snapping him out of his reverie just when the atmosphere began returning back to its original light-hearted state. “I made lemon pie!”

It took him a little under a month to fully settle in. His house was still sparse and relatively empty, but he’d bought a nice new couch to lay back on and a frumpy little lamp he had gotten for free at an antique store. The old lady that worked there had pinched his cheeks and given it to him for free, despite the crumpled bills he was just about to hand over.

She told him that she reminded her of her grandson, and insisted on giving it to him for no charge. Acquiescing, Jesse took it home with him. Who was he to turn down something free, anyway?

He’d gotten himself a job as a carpenter, building together new little cabins not far from where he lived for adventuring tourists or more old couples that would inevitably migrate here in search of some peace and quiet. Most of his free time was spent dillying in his house, reading random books he’d borrow from the musty little library in the small town (he was pleasantly surprised to find a collection of your works on one shelf)—or he’d find himself at your house, playing Scrabble with you, or listening to you ramble about your day, or babysitting your cat when you had to go off to meet with your publisher.

It was safe to say that he’d grown rather fond of you.

And that scared him. Rightfully so—the last two times he’d genuinely cared about someone… he’d lost both of them.

But that was in the past now. Jesse was trying to move forward. With you by his side, hopefully.

One of the benefits of being a carpenter was that he had a nearly infinite supply of spare wood on his hands. He’d been meaning to make you a little thank you gift for how nice you’d been to him his first few weeks in Alaska. He certainly hadn’t been expecting any sort of hospitality whatsoever before he’d arrived.

And so Jesse built you a little birdhouse. It was relatively small and admittedly not his most skillful craft, but he thought it wasn’t too shabby. He’d even stopped by a hardware store to grab some paint, and added a thin coat of light yellow to the outside of the birdhouse. The roof was colored a sweet shade of pink—he’d meant to color it red, but the crimson had accidentally mixed into the white on his brush, and he decided that the pink would look better, anyways.

The day after, he was on your doorstep, ringing the bell with an excited flutter to his stomach, rocking back and forth on his heels.

You swung the door open, smiling upon seeing him. He interestingly noted that you were wearing large yellow overalls, hair tied away from your face. You looked so darned cute—it made him clam up for a second and forget what he’d come here for.

“Hey!” you greeted, stepping to the side so he could amble in. “It’s nice to see you, I was literally just about to call you to ask if you wanted to watch a movie tonight, or something—ooh, whatcha got there?” Your eyes widened as you looked at the little wooden house cradled in his palms.

“It’s for you,” said Jesse, holding it out. “It’s a, uhm, a birdhouse.”

Your expression melted into one of pure affection, and you grinned impossibly wider, before surging forward and throwing your arms around him in a quick hug. Before he could even begin to think about reciprocating the embrace, you were already pulling away, holding the birdhouse up to eye-level to observe it closer. “Oh, my God, Jared, this is gorgeous—I can’t thank you enough. Did you make it yourself?”

Chuckling nervously, Jesse nodded an affirmative, scratching the back of his neck in a sheepish manner. “It was nothing, really. Just had some scrap wood.”

“I love it,” you told him. The words made warmth coil about the bones of his ribs, spreading down to the tips of his fingers and crawling up the skin of his neck. “Nobody’s ever made me something like that before! You’re really too sweet, Jared. I’ll hang it outside in a bit.”

Carefully, you placed the little house on your table. A quiet meow roped both of your attentions lower, where Yuki was winding between both of your legs, tail curled around Jesse’s shins. He bent down to gently scratch beneath her chin, earning him a contented purr.

The three of you made your way to the couches, and you ushered Jesse to sit down, after you rushed to go pour him a steaming cup of coffee.

“It’s freezing out,” you told him, curling up beside the man and handing him the mug, before taking a sip from your own. Yuki made herself comfortable between the two of you, tucking her nose behind her tail and shutting her eyes for a nap. “Hopefully you can stay and defrost for a bit before heading back out?”

He hummed, appreciative of the idea. Being with you was… comforting, to say the least. It was peaceful, and quiet, and made his heart ache like nothing else. Dare he say—domestic. It reminded him of his short-cut time with Jane.

At the thought of her, thorns pierced through his lungs and he forced his gaze away from you. He caught sight of a small pile of papers on your coffee table, and he leaned forward to pick one up. You fiddled with the mug in your hands, nervous.

“Oh, wow, is this what you’ve been writing?” His eyes swept along the first few lines, finding himself utterly impressed. “Yo, this is, like, really damn good.”

“Really?” you asked, sitting up straighter, a hopeful look to your expression. “I’ve been in a weird word-vomit mood lately—ever since I met you, I just haven’t been able to stop.”

Jesse risked a glance to you, muffling a smile. “I may not know much about writing but this is… next level, dude. It’s like I can see it all in my head. Like a movie but with… words?”

“Gosh, Jared, you really know how to compliment someone,” you lightly scoffed, hiding your beam behind your mug. “You can keep that copy if you want. Here—” Shifting to brandish a pen from your pocket, you signed his name right under your printed one.

Jesse peered over to look, the smile cracking through his exterior.

For Jared Driscoll.

“You know what’s funny,” you murmured, eyes glued to his fake name on the paper. “You’ve never really pegged me as a Jared Driscoll.”

For a long moment, Jesse could’ve sworn his heart stopped in his chest. “Oh, yeah? Why, uh… why’s that?”

You shot him a glance, before smiling sweetly, handing him the papers back for him to keep. “I don’t really know—it just doesn’t suit you, I guess. Jared Driscoll sounds so—rough’n’tough, you know? You don’t strike me as the rough’n’tough kind of guy. You’re too sweet for that.” You shrugged, sinking further into the couch and running the tips of your fingers along Yuki’s back.

Jesse stared at you for a moment longer. Your words brought a certain kind of comfort to him that he never knew he needed. The affirmation that he was still a good person in your eyes—it meant more to him than he thought it would.

“Thanks,” he said, hesitant, though he gently quirked the corner of his lips into a mild grin. He sipped his warm coffee before adding on, “I think you’re sweet, too.”

“You never told me when your birthday was,” you told him, an accusing lilt to your words. Jesse’s brows rose. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, having just woken up no less than three minutes ago to the door ringing.

Wordlessly, he swung his door open wider so you had space to shuffle in, still glaring at him.

“It’s been a year since you moved in,” you carried on. There was a slight pouty pucker to your lips, face creased into a frown. Jesse thought you were too damned cute to take your annoyance too seriously. “And we haven’t celebrated your birthday once!”

“Bah, it’s not a big deal,” he finally said, yawning behind a fist and waving your words away.

Your little frown deepened. “Well, I’m sorry I missed it,” you softly said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “But I got you something anyway.”

From out of seemingly nowhere, you brandished a large brown paper bag, dangling it in front of him on the tips of your fingers. When he narrowed his blue eyes and suspiciously darted his gaze between you and the bag, you huffed out a small laugh, jerking your chin towards the gift. “Go on—open it!”

The bag crinkled loudly beneath his grip as he took it from you. With one last questioning look to you, he turned it over, and out fell a large yellow hoodie, cloud-soft in his palms. It looked like it was the exact right size for him, and he sent you an incredulous glance.

“This is sick, Y/N, thanks,” he said, a genuine beam itching at his mouth. “Perfect size—and it’s yellow, too!”

For a moment, you looked a bit unsure. “If you don’t like the color, I can always switch it out—it’s just, you’re always wearing neutrals, I thought it’d be nice to give you something colored.”

Jesse looked to the hoodie, then back at you.

Sure, yellow brought back bad memories. Far too many, and not nearly distant enough in his past.

But yellow was your color—and he rather liked how it looked on you.

“Nah,” he said, patting your shoulder once, then twice, “I like it, really. I like it a lot.”

Two years in Alaska meant nearly two years with you.

You’d become the one constant in his life—one that he wouldn’t mind being around for the rest of it, as well.

The two of you were sitting side by side on a frosty hill, watching the sun set. A breathtaking mirage of clementines and peaches bled through the sky just when the sun dipped slowly beneath the horizon. A faint, cold wind tousled your hair, rustling the blades of grass around you. It was meant to be a celebratory picnic of sorts, but the two of you decided it was too cold to eat out, and opted to just sit and relax for a bit before heading back inside and having dinner. Wordlessly, you handed him a pack of chips from the little basket you’d brought for the failed picnic, and he wrestled it open, popping one into his mouth. Simultaneously, you bit down on a crisp apple, wiping the spurting juices away with the back of your hand.

“I can’t believe it’s been two years,” said Jesse, mindlessly tracing shapes into the cold grass. “Time flies, huh?”

You hummed in agreement. “It does.”

Jesse turned to look at you, watching the side of your face relax along with the disappearance of the sun. The last few moments of golden sunlight bathed you in a gentle glow and drew the most beautiful of shadows across your features. You brushed some stray hairs out of your face, the sleeve of your oversized flaxen sweater swallowing your arm. He really couldn’t deny himself anymore—he was completely and utterly in love with you.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you,” he said. He wanted to tell you the truth. Obviously not all of it—not all at once—but he wanted you to know. Jesse trusted you more than anyone else in his entire life. Maybe that made him an idiot, but… he was willing to risk the chance with you.

Curious, you tilted your head questioningly, laying your hands and face against your raised knees. The very edge of your shoulder brushed against his arm. You raised your eyebrows expectantly.

“You were right,” he finally said.

“Right about what?” You were starting to look mildly concerned.

Jesse inhaled deeply. “Jared Driscoll doesn’t suit me at all because… it’s not my real name.”

Surprise flooded your expression, but not too much of it—as if you’d always had an inkling all along.

“So what’s your real name?” you asked, all gentle, slightly afraid. Afraid that you’d lose him after so long—after getting attached.

“Jesse Pinkman,” he responded, tearing his gaze away from you, not sure if he wanted to see your reaction. “My middle name is Bruce.”

To his complete surprise, you let out a sudden laugh, before clamping your hands to your mouth. He snapped his head back to look at you, a contagious, incredulous grin touching the corner of his lips.

“Bruce like Batman?” you asked, slightly muffled behind your palms. He nodded, and you let out another chortling laugh. Relief wove through the very fibers of his muscles at your relaxed disposition. You smiled at him, all soft and glowing. It made Jesse’s stomach knot together uncomfortably. “I think it suits you. Much more than Jared Driscoll.”

You tested his name out, enunciating different syllables in various ways, your grin growing nearly double its size.

“Jesse Pinkman. Jesse Pinkman. Jesse Pinkman. Jesse Pinkman—”

“Alright, that’s enough,” Jesse snorted, grabbing the apple in your hand and gently pushing it back into your mouth. With a halfhearted glare, you bit down into it anyway.

Around a mouthful of apple, you told him, “You have a pretty name.” You swallowed down the apple and quietly asked him, “Why are you using a fake one?”

Jesse hesitated, directing his gaze to the ground. His smile melted away. “Maybe that’s a story for another time.”

Bobbing your head in understanding, you smiled at him, still so very genuine it made his heart ache.

“Since we’re sharing secrets… well, mine isn’t exactly a secret, but I didn’t move to Alaska for the peace and quiet. I mean, I did, but that wasn’t really the reason why I left the city.” You cleared your throat, eyes getting slightly misty. “I lost my best friend in a car crash while she was on call with me seven years ago. A part of me will always think that it’s my fault that she died. So I moved to Alaska to get away from everything. From the city, and all those cars… and all the people. It was really hard being here at first. It was cold, and lonely, and sometimes just plain old boring. But honestly?” You tentatively reached over to place your palm over his. “Best decision I’ve ever made.”

The sun was long gone by now, and Jesse found himself missing how you looked in its soft yellow glow.

“Best decision both of us made,” he murmured, nodding. Jesse quite liked the feeling of your hand on top of his. “I came to Alaska because I, uh… I lost everyone. Everything.”

You smiled—all soft and devastating. He could feel a part of his heart crumbling into a heap of sand within his chest. Nimbly, he turned his palm over to intertwine your fingers with his cold ones.

“Well, you haven’t lost me, Jesse,” you told him, so quiet that it was nearly lost to the breeze.

Jesse wanted to cry at those words. He blinked away the stinging feeling at the top of his nose, and could only muster a grateful, teary nod.

“I, uhm, I’ve only been in love twice before in my life,” he whispered to you, swallowing the lump in his throat. “And both times, they died while I was right there—helpless. I’ve healed and I’m moving on, but, uh… I’m terrified of losing you the way I lost them, Y/N.”

Shifting, you turned so you could fully face him, now clasping both hands onto his right one. Firmly, you repeated yourself, “You haven’t lost me, Jesse. You won’t. Whatever hurt you back in New Mexico is long gone now. The past is far behind you. You have a fresh start. And I’ll be there with you—every step of the way.”

There wasn’t much yellow in Alaska, and for that he’d been grateful.

But maybe… maybe yellow wasn’t so bad.

After all, yellow was your color—and it looked beautiful on you.

#jesse pinkman x reader #jesse pinkman fanfiction #jesse pinkman fluff #jesse pinkman angst #jesse pinkman imagines #jesse pinkman fanfic #jesse pinkman drabbles #jesse pinkman x you #breaking bad fanfiction #jesse pinkman oneshot #jesse pinkman imagine

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armpirate · 6 months ago

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Anti-romantic || JJk | Ch. 18

Pairings: Boxer!Jungkook x fem!reader || Enemies to lovers, neighbors

Genre: smut, angst, fluff, curse, illegal boxing, violence

Warnings: fuckboy!Jungkook x reader, smut, dirty talk, curse, mention of tarot and fate

Summary: Jungkook had always been carefree when it came to love. He always believed he was worth sharing himself with everyone, and thought it was selfish of him to ever think of keeping himself exclusive to just one person.

And maybe that was exactly what got him into the big problem he was in.

A curse that kept him away from love didn't seem an issue for him. The fact that his ex-girlfriend thought he'd be affected by the idea of the girls he slept with running away from him after sex was ridiculous. She actually did him a favor, and took a burden away from him.

At least that was what he thought at first.

He had never found himself thinking of the possibility of repeating with neither of his hook ups, because they disappeared before he was able to even think about it. But when he makes the mistake of sleeping with the sexy neighbor that lives in front of him, he finds himself hoping to get the chance for a second round every time their paths cross.

Y/n hated him the second he set foot inside the building by the way he started making her life a miserable mess for no reason. Sleeping with him was a big mistake she wasn't thinking of repeating. At least not until he came up with the excuse that she rejected him for a curse. Not only she thought he was annoying, but she was also convinced he was crazy.

There was no way she could take him seriously.

Aprox. time of reading: 16 minutes

Previous || Next

MASTERLIST

While she was rinsing her hair, Y/n could only hope that canary yellow was gone from her hair. It took her a lot of showering, spending a lot of money on hair dyes, and a big big self love not to let the murmuring and giggles get to her when she was forced to go to work looking like that.

It didn't matter how much she tried to hide that ugly hair color under a beanie, it came out somehow. All the time.

As she left the towel on the toilet, she wondered out loud how that tint got to her shampoo. And why did it have Jungkook's name written all over it. Confronting him about it was useless, he'd deny it. But at the same time he made sure she knew it was him with his awful jokes and that dumb smirk she'd love to erase.

He crossed a line that day.

She was surprised when she found him at her door, with one hand placed on the right side of her door frame while he waited for her to show up in front of him. Her eyes rolled just imagining what he could be there for, making her sigh so loud that he was able to hear it from the other side.

And that sound, for some reason, created some type of satisfaction in his system, getting exactly what he expected from her.

—What do you want? —she placed her head against her door.

—I need to speak to you, face to face —his tone sounded serious, as he tried to keep his face away from the peephole.

—If you're looking for a victim for your failed dream to become a hairstylist, I'm not home today.

—But I'm speaking to you.

—You're speaking to my answerphone, not me.

—Whatever —he threw his head back, allowing her to see his exposed neck—. I think we should be mature enough, and talk about this topic while looking at each other. There's something I really need to tell you, and I can only do it if you open the door for me.

While she wanted to ignore what he was saying, it made her curious to know what was that serious issue they needed to discuss, and that clearly had nothing to do with the new hair that only lasted a few days. As she looked back through the peephole, she could see his eye becoming bigger than the rest of his head as he approached it, attempting to look through it as well with no luck.

She had nothing to lose. Maybe he was there to apologize for what he did, maybe that was the last attempt to become a functional adult, who's able to see past his mistakes and take accountability for the things he had done wrong.

Y/n completely ignored his victorious smirk when she first opened her door, confronting him for the first time that morning after she managed to get back to her cold hair color that she never wanted to change.

—Oh —he pointed up at her hair—, I'll miss the yellow.

—Sure you will —those words went through her teeth like daggers—. What did you want? I'm busy.

—It's Saturday.

—So? I'm busy.

Actually, she wasn't. The most difficult thing was dealing with her hair, and she already got it done.

But Jungkook didn't need to know that.

—Busy with sitting around at home doing nothing?

—Exactly.

—Okay then... I'll be quick —he shrugged—. I know we've had a lot of ups and downs, I know I'vee made it difficult for you to live here for the past month and a half. But I think we should try to grow closer as neighbors, we should actually stick together. We see each other more than we see our families, right? —instead of receiving the response he expected, Y/n simply rolled her eyes— We shouldn't be fighting all the time. We actually should do something to improve our relationship. And what's better than trusting each other?

It did look like an apology. Or at least an attempt of truce.

—Yeah, I agree —she nodded.

—Fine —he took her wrist, moving her hand to him—. Somebody will come to repair the air conditioner, but I need to go to work. And since you're here doing nothing, you could open the door for them. Thanks —he quickly informed, leaving his keys in her hand.

Y/n had no time to oppose that responsibility, which she clearly didn't want to have, because Jungkook sprinted towards the stairs before she could even realize what he had said. The keys were still lying in her palm, while she looked at the curve Jungkook disappeared in the fastest she had ever seen him.

At first she was confused, annoyed even. She couldn't wrap her head around the fact that Jungkook had the audacity to ask her for a favor after he sneaked in her house, acting like her boyfriend -which also led to her mother still being hung up on it, despite of how many times she tried to deny it-, and tinted her hair in the most awful hair color to exist. She wasn't able to see quite the good part of that until the technician spilled a comment that had her brain thinking.

—He's lucky to have a neighbor he can trust. I know the most innocent thing mine would do is steal the microwave.

She had spent those days trying to think of a way to get back at Jungkook, her mind wasn't as evil to think of something straight away, but being inside his house gave her a whole new perspective.

Cutting the optical fiber so he couldn't watch his football matches that had her rolling her eyes? Tinting his laundry in an ugly color to throw to waste all of his clothes? If he had a contact book, she could even call one of his hook ups so he'd find her there when he came back.

There were so many choices that would work so perfectly...

Two knocks on the door interrupted her evil plan making, having her turning on her tracks towards the door to find a woman that had some features that resembled Jungkook's. She couldn't put it past him that he was so self-centered that he was turned on by hooking up with someone that looked like the female version of himself.

—Oh, I might've got it wrong.

—Depends on who you're looking for —Y/n interrupted her.

—Jungkook lives here?

—Yeah, but he isn't home —she tried to explain—. He's off for work —and considering it was afternoon already, he probably would take three more hours to come back—, but he won't take too long. Can I ask who's looking for him? Are you another...?

—I'm his mother.

Whatever attempt to make him look like a serial cheater got stuck in her throat with that answer, suddenly feeling bad at putting that poor woman through something as uncomfortable as that.

It was a logical answer, but with Jungkook it was better not to expect the expected.

They looked so alike in some ways, but they looked so different in others. That lady looked elegant, Y/n could even bet her bag cost one month of rent; while Jungkook was... Jungkook.

—You must be his girlfriend?

—Yeah, yeah —she nodded—. That's why I'm here, because we're living together.

Even if the idea of seeing Jungkook settling with someone was too far-fetched.

—You look so sweet —she genuinely mentioned—. Could you tell him I came?

—He doesn't know you are going to be here? —Y/n frowned, confused.

—Difficult if he doesn't pick up my calls —her laugh was nervous, grimacing at the end—. I'll come back another day.

So he was the type to completely ignore his parents...

And that gave her the brightest idea she had in the last few days.

—Why don't you wait for him here? —Y/n suggested.

—I don't think it'll be a good idea.

—Don't be stupid. I mean... —she giggled, insisting on having her step inside his house— You already came all the way here, you can't leave where you came from. Come in, please.

As she closed the door behind her, she couldn't stop imagining Jungkook's face when he saw his mother there.

—Do you want to go for a beer today? —Jimin suggested, palming his shoulder from behind.

Jungkook didn't bother looking up, he knew exactly what facial expression his friend had on his face to try to convince him.

—I pass —he shook his head—. Y/n had the key to my apartment, and I think it'll be testing fate too much.

—Who in their sane mind would give his keys to the person who wants revenge on them?

—Why did you sound like a narrator of one of those lame rom-coms trailers?

—Say whatever you want, but I'm not the one going back to a house on fire —Jimin walked back.

—She wouldn't set it on fire —he denied, chuckling with it—. She'd burn her house as well if she did it. Also that's too brutal to be Y/n's idea. Good thing is I don't have anything at home that could hurt me to see it destroyed.

—Only for saying that, I hope she had broken everything at her reach.

—One thing about my neighbor: she isn't made for being vile and sneaky —Jungkook assured his friend—. That's why it's so fun to mess with her: I get entertainment, knowing it won't hurt too bad.

—Karma will bite your ass —Jimins squinted his eyes—. And I'm not hoping for it, I'm telling you it will.

—If karma is the artistic name of a new Victoria Secret's model, she can bite wherever she wants.

—You're disgusting —Jimin commented, shortly before stepping outside the office.

Every day in the gym was the same for him: he arrived early in the morning, hid inside the office until it was time for the few training sessions he had scheduled, he trained himself for a bit, and hid back inside in the office until it was the time to close the establishment.

That was his life.

Right when he was picking up the few things some of the people that went there left, like empty water bottles or those boxing bandages, he heard the door opening again.

—We're closed —he sighed, not turning to the person who had just stepped inside the dark place—. Come back tomorrow.

—Are you Jeon Jungkook?

He smirked at the mention of his name by a deep male voice, thinking he'd be the one in the winning end if he just pumped his chest a bit and showed that confident persona he loved showing off to intimidate others.

—Depends on who's asking —he sighed, finally getting up from the floor.

—Alessandro Rossi.

When he turned around, he saw a tall bald man, that was twice his size, looking at him attentively, while the youngest man behind him -and that was staring at everything going on from afar- just was a witness of the conversation.

Jungkook's blood went cold at the mention of that name, knowing that it'd bring no good.

—Wow, is he finally honoring me by acknowledging my gym? Look, I am a bit disappointed it took him so long after all these years, but you can tell him I forgive him. I can...

He wasn't able to say anything else, before his words were cut by a sudden punch to his jaw that made him instantly dizzy. Shaking his head to get some control of his body back, he saw the bald man rolling up the sleeves of his black sweater, stepping closer to him.

—Oh, he does know you.

Jungkook blocked his right hook, attempting to punch back. And he probably would've succeeded if that bully hadn't come with his little friend, who stopped him before he was able to defend himself, finding his arm under his grip, so the other could be able to beat him up as he pleased.

He lost count of all the hits he received, every punch hurt less with his body going numb slowly, only able to keep standing by the way the younger man was holding him from behind.

Jungkook was used to the pain of the punches after so many fights, but it was so different after not being able to fight back, losing all control of his body when they both just stopped messing with his body as they let him fall to the ground heavily. His sight was blurry, only able to distinguish some silhouettes, as he felt the blood dripping from his face.

—Next time you try to get on mister Rossi's business, or pretend to stop a fight, we'll burn this mousetrap with you inside.

He wasn't able to do two plus two right away, before his brain had to process the kick straight at his mouth and that made his body fall flat back on the floor. Their steps sounded heavy, echoed in his head as he tried to stare at the ceiling among the darkness while recovering his breath.

He lost count of how much time he spent in that same position. Actually, he didn't even know how he managed to close the gym and walk to his motorbike, losing every attempt of putting the helmet on, before he started the engine and drove to his place.

The crashing sound of his motorbike against the pavement as he tried to park it next to the entrance to his building would've hurted him any other day, but that day he was too focused on standing on his feet without losing his balance.

It had been a long while since he saw himself like that. Jungkook hadn't been in such a low state since he started gaining experience in those boxing parties, and even then his body was aching to the point that he felt pain at the mere move of his leg to take one step.

His body wobbled, forcing him to reach his hand to the wide door frame so he wouldn't fall. And he didn't try to start walking again until he breathed deeply, considering whether to take the step not to annoy Y/n, or take the lift to give his body a rest.

—She'll come at me for any other reason, anyway —he thought, dragging his body to the big metallic box.

The lift slightly trembled as Jungkook rested his body against one of the walls, quietly moaning to press the button that'd take to his floor.

Hearing her voice inside his apartment was reassuring somehow, making him feel like at least he'd be back to someone it didn't bother him to see. At least he'd be able to tease her a bit, and feel entertained before he cried himself to sleep.

But her voice was suddenly followed by a different one. And he couldn't recognize it. It sounded muffled due to the walls, but it sounded familiar.

He swore he'd kill Y/n if she had allowed in one of his hook ups after she came looking for him, which was something that had never happened before.

As he opened the door, and stepped inside his house to a clearer voice, he tried to gain some stability back to confront the woman Y/n was hanging out with. He completely omitted the panic in her face, or how quickly she asked what happened. His rage was only centered at one person that had no business to do there.

Seeing Y/n in that state, barely able to hold on and open his eyes to look at them, with his face and clothes covered with blood, instantly made her expect the worst, sprinting towards him to help him out however she was able to.

—What are you doing here? —he grunted with a raspy voice.

At first, she thought he was talking to her, forcing her to look up at his face as she tried to hook his arm around her shoulder. Although it wasn't her. He was furious, dedicating that woman a look that she had never seen before. It was like he was ready to bark everything that was going through his head.

—Let's talk about it later —his mother tried to get him to calm down—. Let me h...

As soon as she tried to land a hand on his other arm to help Y/n, Jungkook moved it away abruptly, also making Y/n move her hands away and almost causing her to lose her balance.

—I want nothing from you. Wasn't it clear all the times I've told you the same? —he hoarsed— I don't want you here, and I don't care why you came looking for me. Did you run out of money now? That's what you want? Huh? Because I have nothing for you. Nothing. And I don't want to see you again, I don't want to get anything from you.

—Jungkook... —Y/n tried to stop him.

—I told you already: you're dead to me. So do exactly the same thing you've been doing all this time, and disappear.

Y/n gulped thick as she saw the tension between them, seeing the guilt and pain in his mother's face, and the rage and annoyance on his. She couldn't understand what the older woman mumbled as she walked past them with a sad expression. Her apology probed on her lips, but never coming with a sound.

—I don't want you here either —Jungkook turned to Y/n.

—I don't want to be here either —she answered back, turning completely to him—. But I'm not going to leave you like this.

—What are you going to do? Piss me off until my face doesn't look like this? You've done enough already.

—Well, I don't care —she shrugged.

When his mother commented how she had a small fall out with her son, Y/n thought it was a small fight that was meaningless, she couldn't imagine Jungkook reacting that way.

—You make me pay attention to your place, because you think I'm your personal portress, and now you want me to leave? —Y/n loudly scoffed— Sit on that damned couch, unless you want me to shower you up with antiseptic.

He could've insisted, Jungkook knew that if only he had told her again, she probably would've given in. But instead, he followed her guidance, huffing while he walked to his couch, knowing that the worst part was yet to come.

And he was right.

His body squirmed every time she moved the gauze over one of the wounds on his face, clenching his teeth together to keep the moans he was dying to let out to himself.

—You won't ask how this happened?

Knowing Y/n, it was strange she didn't even attempt to ask. She was surprised by how he looked, but not about why it happened.

—Knowing your history, it was a matter of time until this happened —her comment almost made him laugh.

If he wasn't wrong, it was likely that those bullies came to him because of how he got in between Y/n's fight a few weeks back. It was better not to let her know.

—...sorry —she muttered.

—What was that? —Jungkook opened his eyes to look at her.

—Nothing.

—You said something.

—I just said —she mentioned, almost overlapping with his words— that I'm sorry. I didn't know you had such a bad relationship with your mother.

She thought it was nothing bigger than a dumb fight, she couldn't imagine it was as big as serious as Jungkook showed.

He didn't answer back, he didn't think it was needed. But seeing her so serious, and disappointed, pushed a button that got him to speak. He didn't have to explain himself, or the situation, but he felt it was right to do so.

—She cheated on my father —he mentioned—. It was years ago, but I just can't forgive her —as he spoke, her hands moved away from his face and dropped to her lap—. She left, and she didn't care about what she left behind. My dad went through hell, he almost lost his house after he got fired from his workplace, because the quality in his job also got affected because of the situation. I got my ass beaten up countless times just to earn some extra money to pay the bills, because my job wasn't enough to pay half of the things. Not once she cared about all that, and now she wants to act like nothing happened...

Y/n didn't know what to do, or say. She just looked at him attentively, surprised by that new side of him. She was so used to bickering with him, or seeing him being a pay in the ass, that that new side of him felt like a completely different person.

—I know how you feel.

Before she was able to elaborate on her words, Jungkook's scoff interrupted her.

—And you remind me a lot of my brother —she nervously smiled.

—He also thought you were annoying?

—He also did illegal fights to earn money when there was no other choice —she quickly shut down his attempt to joke around.

His smirk dropped with her answer, finally finding some sense into what her mother asked her when she met him.

—My dad also left, without saying a thing —she started—. He left a lot of unpaid bills and debts, my mother suffered depression and wasn't able to work. Me and my brother tried to work, but our salaries just covered a few things. That's how he started, until he died in one of those fights.

—That's why you're so stubborn about the article?

—If the only thing I got from it was recognition, I would've published it already —she commented—. I want to see all of those people exposed, and I want to find the person that put my brother into that fight —she threw the gauze on the table.

—Why didn't you tell me?

—Did I have to? —she lifted her eyebrow— You didn't need to know more than the fact that it was going to be written.

—Well, it'd have changed a lot of things.

—You'd have helped me? Like you're thinking of now? —she cut him off— Forget it. I don't want your help anymore.

—Y/n, I only said it because it's dangerous.

—And I know —she nodded.

She started picking up her things, getting up from the couch before she started heading towards the door.

—Put a lot of ice everywhere. Or not. I don't care.

Suddenly, a lot of things made sense for Jungkook. She was so used to healing that type of wounds, she was so familiar with that dark environment, that he should have known it went further than just being a good professional passionate about her work.

She lived all of that up close. She knew all the consequences and still went for it.

Taglist: @jk97bam @ttanniett

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fr-likes-chocolate · 10 months ago

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The crow and the canary

Chapter two: the bear

Ursus maritimus

After a day’s travel, Jimmy finally arrived at the costal port the letter had specified, all the fog from the ocean covered the sun and seemed to sap the color and life out of everything, including the residents, who all wore neutral grays and browns, Jimmy had bright yellow wings, blonde hair, and a frosty blue denim jacket, which made him stick out like a sore thumb amongst the locals. ‘Where is my escort? Phil said that they would find me but I-’ he felt a hand on his shoulder, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“Hello.”

Jimmy whipped around to see the person whose voice was so robotic and- oh. He was face to face with a strange 8-foot-tall bear. At least it looked like a bear, the closer Jimmy looked, he saw stitches in the white fur and a speaker poking through the fur on its chest where the creature’s heart should have been. The bear creature tilted its head, holding out a book. Jimmy looked it up and down again before taking the book.

“Are you Jimmy Solidarity?” he read, “uhm- yes. Why do you ask?” Jimmy looked up at the bear again. The bear gestured for the book again, Jimmy gave it the book and waited patiently while the bear wrote in the book, “Are you some sort of mascot?” he asked, hoping to get some sort of confirmation that the bear wouldn't kill him. The bear ignores him, handing him the book again. Jimmy took it, “I am a part of the QSMP Federation and your guide to Quesadilla island.” Jimmy looked up, “So my brother sent you? That seems odd… I mean I don't have anything against you but I feel like my brother wouldn't send something like you.” The bear simply took the book from Jimmy.

“Follow me.”

It started to walk toward the dock, leaving Jimmy to scramble behind it. “Wait up!” Jimmy called out as he dashed after the bear, he didn't expect it to be so fast for how large it was!

The bear stopped at the end of the dock. A small boat in front of it. Jimmy ran up behind it, “You gotta give me a warning next time- I nearly lost you for a second.”

“Hahaha”

“Don’t laugh at me..! Now is this the boat we are taking?”

“Yes.”

Jimmy nodded, pushing down the feelings of dread and fear that had been forming in his stomach. He slipped into the boat and sat down on a nearby chair, and the bear walked to the control panel. ‘Why does this bear give me the creeps…’ Jimmy thought, glancing around nervously, ‘This whole thing feels super sketchy to me, how do I know this is actually my escort? This may be a ploy to kidnap me or get to any of my friends through me, maybe I should go back-’ the boat roared to life, causing Jimmy to jump. “I actually forgot something, if you wait here I can quickly fly back and grab it-” The bear froze, prompting Jimmy to walk to the back of the boat, unfurling his golden wings.

Before Jimmy could lift off, something pricked the back of his neck. Jimmy reached back and felt a small tranquilizer dart. As if on cue, the world started to spin around his feet. He tried to talk, but his tongue felt like a rag in his mouth. As Jimmy tried to get his bearings, the white bear walked to him, tranquilizer gun in hand. Jimmy blinked and found himself on his knees, the spinning world making him retch.

The bear stood over him, then knelt beside him.

“Hahaha”

Jimmy looked up one last time at the bear in a moment of clarity before passing out.

Pt 1

Pt 3

#HAHA SUPRISE!!!!#I HYPERFOCUSED SO HERES THE REWARD #jimmy solidarity #cucurucho #qsmp #bird siblings #philza #life series #mcytblr #authors of tumblr #the crow and the canary

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littlemisspascal · 2 years ago

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Rockford & Roan Pt. 2

Pairing: Tim Rockford x Female Reader/OFC ‘Roan’

Word Count: 2.1k

Summary: A week into living together, you start to realize there’s something…peculiar about your roommate.

Rating: T

Warnings: Language, Reader has a dog, Reader has military background, Superpower AU, They Were Roommates AU, self-esteem issues, soulmates-ish, original characters, worldbuilding

- Reader has no first name and no physical traits described in detail except for being shorter than Rockford

Author Note: Thank you so so much for all the kind support 😊 I've really enjoyed writing for these characters and developing their world + relationship. If you want, check out some art I made for the fic here. Hope y'all like this new part!

Special thanks to @beecastle for beta reading and encouraging me 💜💜💜

Part 1 / Part 3

The Apartment

445D Albatross Lane does indeed have an unmistakably yellow door.

Standing on the sidewalk, you and Banjo stare up at the building. Well, you’re staring up at the six stories of tan bricks and arched windows, Banjo is far more interested in the smells coming from the small bakery situated just to the right of the canary yellow door. A sign on the window says they make pet friendly treats. Banjo would never forgive you if you didn’t buy him some to try sometime.

Overall, it’s a quiet and nondescript place on a quiet and nondescript street. Definitely not as modern or bustling as your current apartment on the other side of town. It’s clean though. Mellow. Charming in its own funny little way.

“Hello again, Miss Roan,” Rockford’s voice pulls you out of your observations, turning around to find him paying a cab driver. “And you, as well, Banjo,” he adds when the little mutt barks in greeting.

His appearance hasn’t changed much since yesterday, same white shirt and ruffled hair, but he’s ditched the trenchcoat this time, revealing just how much the cotton fabric stretches to accommodate his expansive shoulders.

“It’s a nice place,” you say as he comes to stand next to you.

He quirks a smile. “Just wait ‘til you see the inside.”

In the elevator, Rockford presses the button for the 4th floor. You stand next to each other; him silently watching the numbers tick by over the doors, you silently watching him out of the corner of your eye.

He seems calm. Outwardly, at least, hands stuffed in his trouser pockets. You wonder if it would mirror the same internally, ocean waters smooth and still. Your mind-gift hovers at the edges of his aura, torn between the selfish desire to submerge into his emotions again and the terrifying wariness of triggering his discomfort. It’s only the second day of knowing each other, after all, and there is such a thing as too much too fast.

But oh how you want…

You run your tongue over your bottom lip, thinking of how you could ask without sounding impolite or, worse, desperate—except then the elevator’s stopping and Rockford’s gesturing for you to follow him down the hallway.

“Only got the one key at the moment,” he produces said item from his pocket, unlocking the third door on the right, “but if you’re still certain about moving in after you look around, I’ll talk to the landlady about making copies. She’s a friend of the family, owes me a favor or two.”

You turn in a slow circle inside the living room, taking in everything while Rockford points out some of the appealing features. Good amount of natural light from the windows, updated appliances, ample sized rooms with high ceilings. The walls are painted a soothing cream color, lined with a couple of shelves here and there covered in books and random trinkets. A miniature globe, a solved Rubik’s cube, and an antique camera standing out amongst the clutter.

What he doesn’t point out is the abundance of boxes stacked in practically every corner, filled to the brim with even more books and folders stuffed with documents. Or the assortment of laboratory glassware spread out across the adjoining kitchen’s countertops. Or, most alarmingly, the joker playing card stabbed to the wall with a knife.

“My brother and I, we’re very competitive,” he explains, noticing your staring. Then, with a chuckle that sounds a bit too forced to be real, “God forbid we ever play Monopoly, we’d murder each other.”

“Does he live nearby?” you ask, filing away the little factoid in the corner of your brain you’ve decided to label Tim Rockford 101.

“Unfortunately,” is the short reply, and that’s the end of that.

You take another look around, slowly drifting over all the details big and small, thinking to yourself you can see it—a life for yourself here—just from this little glimpse.

There’s a comfortable looking plush navy couch pushed against the wall you’ll take naps on after sessions with Dr. Odair, and a perfect spot for a dog bed by the center window, and a pair of floral-patterned armchairs near a dark wood coffee table and fluffy white rug that have no good reason being grouped together and yet—and yet, somehow, you can’t imagine anything else more fitting.

“It's great,” you say, nodding your head. “You’ve found a wonderful place.”

His eyebrows furrow like you’ve given him a complicated math problem instead of a compliment.

“What?” You glance down at yourself self-consciously, worried about finding a stain, but see nothing wrong.

“You’re restraining yourself,” he says at last. “Outside on the street, I could understand keeping your mind-gift close, but here, where it’s just you and me, I’d hoped you would be comfortable enough not to suppress your empathy.”

“You–” Your breath catches in your throat, heart performing a somersault. “You mean, you don’t mind it?”

His eyebrows shoot up his forehead now, surprised and dismayed. “Of course not,” he says, so earnest and sincere you don’t even need your mind-gift to know he’s telling the truth. “Your mind-gift led to our matching. More importantly than that, it’s a part of you. I can’t promise my emotions will always be pleasant, but I can promise they’re yours to feel just as much as they are mine, Miss Roan.”

It’s…overwhelming to process. Rockford accepting your mind-gift wholly and completely. Rockford giving you unrestricted access to his feelings, the good, the bad, and the ugly. It’s the greatest offering of trust you’ve ever received, not even your own parents gave you such permission to feel their every change in mood.

You’re speechless for a long moment, furiously blinking back against embarrassing tears burning at the corners of your eyes. “Thank you,” you croak, and then divert your gaze to the hallway leading to the other rooms. “I’d like to see the rest, if that’s alright?”

He leads the way with an easy smile, and there’s only the faintest of stumbles in his step when your empathy tentatively brushes against his mind before his emotions rise up to greet you like an old friend.

Yeah, you think to yourself, looking around the bedroom that will soon be yours, head filled with the gentle lapping of waves. I think I’m going to like it here.

The transition from living alone with a dog to now living with a dog and roommate is a surprisingly smooth one. Maybe it’s the influence of the bond further tying your lives irreversibly together, but a part of you likes to think even if you weren’t a matched pair, you and Rockford could just have easily carved out a space to cohabitate. A little realm of your own making.

You move into your new bedroom with a mattress twice as big as your old one, the few personal items you own seamlessly mixing with Rockford’s in the living room, kitchen, and bathroom. Your toothbrush shares a cup with his, the grocery list sticks to the fridge with a magnet from the pet shelter, a blanket your mom gave you for your last birthday drapes over the back of the couch.

Even Banjo settles quickly into the new environment. After spending the first two days sniffing everything in sight, he finds a new favorite spot on the living room floor warmed by the sunlight to stretch out his legs like a starfish. His leash hangs up on one of the entryway wall hooks next to Rockford’s trench coat and his basket of toys fits perfectly in the bottom nook of the hall closet, filling up the final tiny gaps, cementing this apartment as home.

The Roommate

A week into living together, you start to realize there’s something…peculiar about your roommate. He’d forewarned you about his unpredictable schedule and insomnia, but you hadn’t anticipated the way he locks himself away in his office for hours some days—spending most of the time pacing, if the creaking floorboards are any indication, deep in thought—or his frequent penchant for leaving the apartment in the middle of the night without any explanation. Not that he owes you one. He’s entitled to his own private affairs, but still. Peculiar.

His emotions provide you with little clues to fill in the missing blanks. Mostly his mood’s a state of calm, calm, calm throughout the day, interrupted by the occasional splash of amusement, rumbling thunder of frustration or jarring spasm that accompanies a sudden change of thought. Epiphanies floating up from beneath the surface, from the vast, dark chasms that transfix your mind-gift with their mystery. How far down do they go? What, if anything, lies at the bottom?

You want to ask—about where he goes, about his gift, about so much—but asking would risk revealing just how much you enjoy collecting facts about Rockford, like a pathetic little magpie constructing a nest of shiny things. So rather than potentially die from embarrassment, you keep your mental list to yourself, adding to it as the days go by.

One - he’s an avid reader.

You’ll be honest, a small part of you initially thought perhaps the heaps of books throughout the apartment were just for show. Some kind of library aesthetic maybe. But no, set any book or magazine or newspaper down in front of him and he’ll inhale the words like they’re his lifeblood. The genre and topic don’t matter either. Historical events, fairy tales, biographies, poetry, science fiction, true crime. You’ve caught him reading all of them, felt his emotions swirl and surge with every turn of the page, heard fragments of sentences murmured aloud dulcetly while you dozed on the couch.

Two - he solves the Fox Leap Times crossword every morning.

Eating breakfast together becomes a staple in your daily routines. No matter where he goes at night or what time he returns, he’s always there in the kitchen come dawn. The meals are never overly fancy—the military didn’t offer much in the way of cooking classes, and your meager skills and can-do attitude are only a little better than Rockford’s—but regardless, just like his reading habits, he isn’t picky about what’s on his plate. A couple mouthfuls and a few sips of coffee—black with a dash of cinnamon—and he’s powering through the puzzle like he’s been possessed, finishing the whole thing in under ten minutes with a pleased little smirk.

Three - he’s a connoisseur of takeout food.

There’s a collection of menus stashed in the drawer near the fridge from every eatery that surpassed Rockford’s high standards, within easy reach during evenings when there’s nothing left to eat except for a jar of mayonnaise or the last swallows of an expired milk carton. Rockford had spent a solid month gathering data and reviews from restaurants, cafes, vendors and food trucks to figure out the best of the best. I was between jobs, is all he says with a one-shouldered shrug of indifference when you ask him about it. Your shock (and slight alarm) at the dedicated lengths of his research quickly melted away during the first bite of a heavenly cheeseburger drowning in grease and a secret sauce from a little hole-in-the-wall joint you’d never have given a second glance without Rockford’s thirty-odd spreadsheets of persuasion.

Four - you’ve never seen him sleep.

All humans need sleep to survive, even eccentric and peculiar men like Tim Rockford. Yet he’s always up when you retire to bed at night and always up before fiddling around with something in his office or reading a book. His emotions are never tainted with the fog and distortion of unconsciousness either. You tell yourself he must sleep while you’re out, and try not to take it personally that he doesn’t feel secure enough to rest while you’re around.

Five - your empathy intrigues him.

For as much as Rockford’s emotional mindscape fascinates your empathy, he seems, bizarrely enough, just as interested in learning the ins and outs of your ability. You’d never previously thought of your mind-gift as a particularly exciting one—influencing and interpreting emotions pales in comparison to predicting events or levitating things across the room. But the way Rockford interacts with your empathy, easily accustoming to its presence, nudging against it playfully sometimes; and the way he hangs off your every word while you describe how you were prone to tantrums as a child, body overwhelmed by emotions that weren’t your own, exploding like fireworks until there was nothing left to do but scream, almost makes you feel like you’re something important. Something special.

Six - there’s a pinboard in his office covered in pictures of dead bodies.

…what?

#tim rockford #tim rockford x you #tim rockford x reader #tim rockford x ofc #tim rockford fanfic #pedro pascal character fanfiction

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isaacforalpha14 · 1 year ago

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Dean Route

The motel room is charming; a quaint breakfast nook by the bay window, potted succulents in the window frame, a sizable television mounted the the pale yellow wall, plush carpets the color of beach sand, a teal overstuffed loveseat with canary yellow pillows, two king sized beds with ocean blue comforter sets, and a freshly remodeled bathroom with white tiles and a clear shower stall. It seems you’d hit the jackpot finding a cheap motel in the middle of a remodel. Sam’s annoyed, you sense it the minute you agreed with Dean on sharing a room. The manner in which his shoulders tensed and his jawline flexed, there’s a shadow of hope creeping into your brain that this won’t end in another argument with him. It’s strange, there’d been an undeniable amount of communication throughout the relationship but Dean shows up and that comes crumbling down. Now, there are arguments that just seem trivial, secrets being hidden and that strange tension that seems to loom over the Winchesters. It feels like the universe is testing the relationship or telling you that you’d made the wrong choice. Sam mumbles something along the lines of ‘I am going to get us dinner’ before he disappears with the keys to the Impala. Dean’s holding his hand against his ribcage as he sits on his motel bed. Dean always slept in the motel bed closest to the door, it was the instinctual need to be the protector, if someone or something came crashing through the door they’d have to go through him to get to you or Sam. His attention is on you; the way you lean against the loveseat watching Sam leave without even attempting to take you with him, solemn expression.

“He’s just pouting.” Dean attempts to ease your nerves, releasing a hiss through clenched teeth as he shrugs off his military style green jacket. “He’s never liked the tiebreakers. He used to say you always side with me.”

The atmosphere in the motel room is comfortable; the tension that radiated from Sam has dissipated, leaving the aura in the room to feel like the old times when Sam would leave to run errands and you’d stay behind to help piece Dean together. Zipping up the backpack by your boots, you held the first aid kit that your father had gifted you on your first hunt. He instructed you to always carry it with you and you have every day since. The mattress tousles as you sit beside Dean, you hesitate, thrown by the intruding idea that you could help him remove his shirt but refrain from doing so. Fingers plucking at the sleeve of his black cotton t-shirt in a nonverbal gesture for him to remove the article of clothing. “You don’t have to help me.” He murmurs in a quiet tone, swallowing the lump in his throat at the close proximity as the flesh of your arm brushes against his bare skin after he’s removed his shirt.

“Dean.” The hint of a smile on the corner of your tongue dampened lips as you focus on searching the first aid kit for the alcohol wipes. “When have I ever let you patch yourself up?”

“Touche.” He replies in a hushed tone, falling silent as he watches the movements of your hands in their determination to search for something. His stomach feels hollow as he anticipates the feel of your warm hands on his bare skin.

“This is gonna sting.” You warn, furrowing your brow in empathy as he sighs at the frigid sting of the alcohol wipes against his wound. The fluid movements of the alcohol pad are gentle and precise, afraid that if there were too much pressure applied or if the action were rushed it’d end up in additional pain. It’s when you retrieve the nylon threading that he braces himself, he’s had homemade sutures a thousand times before, the sharp sting of the needle puncturing the wounded flesh is always the worst at the beginning. “Are you ready?” You question with a sympathetic smile, he nods in acknowledgment, placing his hands on his jean clad knees as he releases a hefty breath. A tilt of his head and closing his eyes, he tries not to involuntarily twitch as the needle punctures his skin. The sudden warmth of your palm against his chest near his anti-possession tattoo makes him shiver, ignoring the pain as you sew the wound closed, his olive eyes are focused instead on the concentration and care in your eyes. You’re so close that he can smell the scent of your shampoo melded with perfume. The scent is intoxicating and he has to refrain from leaning forward and burying his nose in your hair. Before he can linger in his intrusive thoughts for too much time, you’re snipping the end of the thread and tying a knot. He glances down at your handiwork, admiring the precision of the suture and noting in another life you could’ve been a doctor.

“At least it didn’t get your tattoo.” You observe, fingertips brushing the delicate flesh below his collarbone as you trace the design in an absentminded action. There’s a sense of guilt that creeps into the pit of your stomach but it’s overshadowed by the lurch of excitement that causes butterflies to go soaring in your abdomen as you notice Dean’s muscles in his toned stomach clench at the touch. Something in the air shifts, electric tension crackling within your nerve endings, the scene feeling more intimate as his olive green eyes meet yours. He’s fighting an unwinnable war in his mind; his heart is screaming at him that you feel what he does, his mind telling him this is wrong, and his gut telling him to just kiss you. He places his forehead on yours, the affectionate gesture startling you at his vulnerability, nose brushing against yours, warm breath fanning over your lips. Heart hammering against your chest, your mind is chanting for you to remove yourself from the situation, you can’t do this, but there’s something in your heart that’s telling you this is where you belong. All it would take is Dean pursing his lips and they’d be on yours. Neither of you are moving away, it’s like a silent game of chicken to see who’d retreat first but both are too stubborn to give in. Dean’s throat bobs as he swallows, retreating from the compromising position as he leans back further to sit upright again. There’s disappointment in your expression, he catches it and it makes him wonder if you’d wanted him to kiss you. It’s a dangerous game to play. If he had kissed you; he’d never stop until you were his, it would hurt Sam.

The motel room entrance releases a beep, Sam using the key card to come in just in time to witness you walking away from a shirtless Dean. His attention flickers to the sutures on his bare chest and it makes him release a sigh of relief but then he catches the longing in his brother’s eyes as you close the bathroom door and he’s hit with a realization. Sam never wanted to be that guy but he can't seem to help the jealous annoyance; he caught Dean watching you in the rear view mirror on several occasions throughout drives to hunts, the manner in which he smiled like a lovesick teen as you spoke made his stomach knot, the hushed conversation and giggling at the diners during lunches, the way Dean never minded when you ate food off of his plate, the way Dean always let you choose music in the car, the way Dean always just knew what you needed and how to make you feel better. The intimate scenes he’s witnessed over the years like what he walked into after Kevin disappeared, and now this. How could he have never noticed that his brother is in love with you? The real question that haunted him was if you love him too.

#supernatural imagines #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester x reader

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thehopesquadhq · 1 month ago

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The Green Light Lab (Lore Explanation) (Topics such as torture and child labor mentioned below. Be careful):

The Green Light Lab is a highly respected scientific organization on the Hope Squad universe.

Some know them as a company that researches meds, chemicals, animals and high tech.

Others might speak about their prodigy system: how they recruit kids to learn their inner workings from young age and use their talents to learn on how to make the world a better place.

However, they are not what they show.

They are actually very corrupt, and make cruel experiments on people, even children, all in the name of science.

The scientists that are a part of the organization can only eat a synthetic meal with a taste somewhere between bitter and bland that only has nutrients, but no flavor.

Their origin was noble. Their founder Matthew Green wanted to find ways of saving humanity from itself during the World War II. He managed to create a green substance that is able of challenging the rules of nature on experiments.

But, as time progressed, their intentions became more and more corrupt. When the story starts, they start a world domination plan, because they think they are the only ones that can fix everything that is wrong with the world. Like crimes, unfairness and selfish rich man.

They have an inner hierarchy made of 6 rankings based on the colors of the rainbow.

Each scientist has a codename that depends on their ranking’s main hue. The prodigies usually use their old names towards each other, but the adults only use the codenames

Green Ranking:

- The Highest Ranking on the Lab.

- The members of this ranking are responsible for the bigger projects of the lab and the direction that the entire organization will be headed into.

- The scientists on this ranking arrived here by being incredibly smart at science, and having no morals to do what ‘has to be done’ to achieve their goals.

- They use codenames like: Pine, Moss, Olive, Sage…

Blue Ranking:

- The Second Highest Ranking at the lab.

- The scientists of this ranking have some good rights: they can also lead their own projects under the orders of their green superiors, and also order any scientist on a lower ranking.

- Punishments here are really rare, except those directed towards children.

- The scientists of this ranking are here because, although they are brilliant in science, they usually have some inhibitions that would interfere on the choices of the Green Ranking.

- The codenames for the scientists here are: Sky, Navy, Ocean, Lapis, Indigo…

Yellow Ranking:

- The Middle Ranking of the Lab.

- The scientists of this ranking are formed by those who have a knowledge that, although isn’t exactly scientific, can still be used by the lab in some way or another.

- Like those that are good at writing speeches, writing, composing songs and playing instruments, drawing and some others…

- Their life isn’t the hardest, but it isn’t the easiest either. They still can receive punishments if their work is seen as insufficient by the Lab, or if they misbehave. But they have some access to other parts of the lab, and can order those in lower rankings.

- The codenames here are: Canary, Mustard, Gold, Daffodil…

Orange Ranking:

- The second lowest ranking.

- The scientists on these ranking are… on not the best conditions. They have to obey all of the other rankings, and usually have to do the worst works.

- However, they do have a bit of respect because they are seen as hardworking by the lab, even if they don’t have any talent, they find very useful.

- Punishments here are common, but not that much in comparison to next ranking.

- Some codenames are: Tangerine, Marigold, Cinder…

Purple Ranking:

- The Lowest Ranking of the level.

- The scientists on this ranking are usually the prodigies that have just entered the lab, or the scientists that are too ‘rebellious’ for their own good.

- The scientists on this ranking have the worst tasks, are frequently mistreated by the other rankings, and punishments are very frequent.

- The sooner you get promoted from this level the better, or else…

- The codenames are: Lavander, Mauve, Lilac, Magenta…

Red Ranking:

- The Green Scientists consider this a ranking but… calling it a ranking it’s a very bad, bland and tasteless joke.

- The rebel scientists and those that are seen as incompetent or nuisances. They are experimented on this one and became ‘useful’ to the lab in one way or another.

- The experiments made on this ranking are immoral in every way possible.

- Most that are experimented on, loses themselves and forget who they are… turning into monsters for the lab to use and abuse.

The Prodigies all Start at the Purple Ranking, and have the chance of ascending on the hierarchy with their inner semestral Science Fairs. They usually present a report on what they did across the semester, but, that isn’t the most important part. The important part is showing a device or upgrade that can be useful to the lab’s growth. (When they are not good at science, and are content with the yellow ranking, they usually submit a drawing, a plant they made for a construction or something like this).

If it’s satisfying, they are kept on the same ranking without any punishment. If it’s brilliant, they go to the next ranking (there has never been a case of someone who skipped a ranking). If they show something unsatisfying, or worse, nothing… well, they won’t go to the red ranking, or be demoted to a ranking below, but they will be punished with either electricity or burns.

#dc #dc comics #dc oc #dc ocs #ocs #batman #batfam #batfamily #digital art #lore dump #writers on tumblr

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ladytauria · 1 year ago

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🛼

🛼 ⇢ describe your latest wip with five emojis

ohhh hm 🤔

👁😨💋😲🥵

#i decided to do a wip of mine i havent really talked about #it's one of the few that actually gets a real title (& early too!)#the color of hope (canary yellow)#anyway i'm not sure how well this works as an emoji summary #but! there u go uwu #asks and answers #lovely anons #ask gaming #also:#it’s jaytim & reverse robins. bc ofc it is

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mcyt-as-birds · 10 months ago

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Hey!! I hope I'm not bothering you but I just found your blog (love your blog it's amazing) and, as a fellow mcyt enjoyer & bird enthusiast, I just have to ask you what birds you would assign to Niki, Quackity, Ranboo & Jimmysolidarity, based on their character/personality/looks? I'm just asking because I'm making a mcyt harpy AU and you seem like someone knowledgeable in birds and generally like a cool person so I hope I'm not intruding on your time!

So far I think Niki could be a flamingo (despite looking pretty they're pretty tough lol but I'm having second thoughts on that), Ranboo could be a long bird w long legs (maybe some kind of stork or stilt i dunno), with Quackity I'm torn between a Loggerhead Shrike and a Goldeneye Barrow's duck (or any duck bcs well, it's in his name lol. I actually can't decide if I should go for his dsmp character or general mcyt persona) and Jimmy I have no frickign idea (maybe a canary??? I've been thinking about this for days and I have no clue lmao).

Anyways hope you have a good day/night and once again love your blog :]

AAAAAAA so sorry I didn’t see this ask until now!!!! I’ve been absolutely going through it lately since moving but it’s getting better and I’ve successfully seen and photographed a bunch of new lifer birds so like win!!

So, absolutely depends on which SMP for these characters but if we’re going DSMP for niki, ranboo, and Quackity then these are my assignments;

Niki: my first instinct for niki is American kestrel (Falco sparverius), but she also fits one of the jaeger sp pretty well. Personally I’d go with Parasitic Jaeger (Stercorarius parasiticus) also known as the arctic skua. They’re incredibly skilled aerialists that are called “parasitic” because they pursue other seabirds until they give up their catch and leave it for the jaeger. Girlboss of them. Jaeger is also a German originating word meaning “hunter” so it’s double cool! They look like this! They remind me of marble a lot.

Quackity: I’ve given him two assignments before, but both were for QSMP!Quackity which is very different vibes to DSMP!Quackity but I think they’re generalized enough to still work. The first one, for a General Vibes quackity is the ferruginous duck because duh, duck, but also They Have Secrets. And Know All Of Yours. Just look at those eyes! (Only males have the bright yellow eyes btw.) Barrow’s goldeneye IS a good choice as well so if you wanted to I’d say go for it! I also think ruddy duck (Oxyura jamaicensis) is a great choice personality wise because they are Mean Little Bastards to each other and others rip.

Here’s a male ferruginous duck! Oh god what does he know

I am, however, a HUGE fan of hummingbird!Quackity particularly for the small size->bigger aggression of some species. It’s so unexpected! There’s also large parallels with how they have to constantly be on the move and eating insects and drinking nectar, with some species needing to consume up to three times their bodyweight each day just to survive! It reminds me a lot of how DSMP!Quackity is always trying to do Bigger and More Things and just never stops, ever, ultimately to his own detriment when he can no longer keep up. Again rip.

Anyways the species I assigned him before based on coloration of the art is the violet sabrewing (Campylopterus hemileucurus) which is one of the larger but less aggressive emeralds. HOWEVER they do end up completely intimidating other species away from feeding flowers just from their size and General Vibes. They’re also cool as fuck so I won’t be changing that. But if you wanted something more aggressive then I’d go with ruby-throated hummingbird.

Here’s what a violet sabrewing looks like!

Ranboo: This is a bit of a tricky one, because it would be extremely easy to go “black and white bird boom done” and I don’t think that’s like bad but there is More To Him. Past assignments I have given him include swallow-tailed kite (Elanoides forficatus) for a miss beloved design, purple-crowned fairywren (Malurus coronatus) for a general streamersona/r800 ranbrand, and violet-backed starling (Cinnyricinclus leucogaster) for r800.

But if we are going purely DSMP!Ranboo, I have two different ideas.

Personality: killdeer (Charadrius vociferus)

Design: secretarybird (Sagittarius serpentarius)

Personality wise, the killdeer fits mainly because of its well-known predator responses “broken-wing display/injury feigning” and “ungulate display.” The former is where the adult killdeer will pretend to be injured (and thus, an easier target) in order to lead predators away from their nest and chicks. Then, they’ll lose or frustrate the predator until they give up and it’s safe to return to the nest. The other predator response is what I affectionately call the “fuck it, we ball” response, where the bird lowers its head, raises its wings, and charges at the predator. It is frequently fatal. I don’t think I have to explain why it’s so Ranboo coded but if you need evidence look up anyone threatening Michael lmao. Also you probably didn’t want to hear that much about them but listen I love them so much they are so cool and baby.

They look like this when doing the broken wing display! They also just kind of have the panicked deer in headlights look that I feel like he embodies.

The second option, the secretarybird or secretary bird, is even funnier looking but fits the aesthetic so well and honestly some of his strange and unsettling vibes. The secretarybird (Sagittarius serpentarius) is the largest bird of prey by height and length. They are almost entirely terrestrial and hunt their prey by—get this—stomping it to death. I’m not kidding. They have been described as “what you get when you mix an eagle, a stork, and a bad hair day” because of the stupid little feathers on the back of their head. They kinda look lights on but nobody’s home sometimes. Drumroll please for this absolute fucking creature (affectionate)

Yeah, I wasn’t exaggerating. Why do they look like that.

Jimmy: is an extremely difficult one, tbh. Everyone assigns him canary which, like, fair—but honestly it does not fit his personality or his design, and only really works for life series!Jimmy. And they don’t even give him a specific species! (Although ppl usually mean domestic canary without saying it.) No hate to people who do this and the canary in the coal mine symbolism is cool I just have Opinions and Propaganda and I’ve been Enabled.

I have assigned him one bird before, the eastern rosella (Platycercus eximius) and I kinda stand by it for the content creator, but it doesn’t fit his general minecraft sona.

To figure this out, we must go even deeper. Into the deep dark, mind the wardens. You probably didn’t want this but Too Bad you’ve activated my trap card and now you have to suffer.

Jimmy is a peculiar character because he is very dear to everyone, but also the butt of every joke—and he likes it that way! He’s a key player in many important events in storylines, but also the most often discarded. His luck is terrible, yes, but it can be argued that he brings about misfortune for others more than he himself experiences it. This is across hermitcraft, the life series, and empires.

So I propose this to you and the general fandom:

Jimmy is a snowy albatross.

The snowy albatross (Diomedea exulans) previously described as the wandering albatross along with the Amsterdam, Tristan, and Antipodean albatross sp, is a bird that is heavily steeped in superstition. While generally considered a bird that would bring sailors good luck, to harm or kill an albatross was to bring about the sea’s wrath upon the entire crew. In The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, the Mariner kills an albatross that is being cared for by the crew. The crew became very angry with him, believing that he had called upon bad luck, and forced him to wear the albatross around his neck. This is where the metaphor “an albatross around his neck” comes from, symbolizing an unwanted burden causing anxiety and distress. At the end of the story, the mariner learns to care for all the sea creatures and his releases from his curse, but is forced to walk the earth for eternity and tell his tale. This is where the albatross has also become a symbol of past sins, regret, and atonement.

Jimmy personifies these qualities so much, along with hidden power, vulnerability, and unconditional love SO MUCH I need the fandom to see my vision so bad. Albatross Jimmy propaganda!!!!

They look like this

And the chicks are so cute it’s not even funny.

I could go on and on about how Jimmy is so albatross coded it’s not even funny and facts about them AND I WILL LETS GO albatrosses have specialized wing anatomy that allows them to lock their shoulder in place and fly hundreds of miles without flapping their wings even once! They also follow ships and will eat anything and everything presented to them, including garbage, and will gorge themselves on food until they are so bloated they can only float on the water. They can live for over 50 YEARS, the oldest known lasyan albatross (and bird in general!) is a female named Wisdom who is 70 years old and still kicking! They are often considered silly or ugly birds by people unfamiliar with them but are very beloved by those within the birding and research communities and snowy albatrosses are one of the most researched bird species in the world! They are fiercely loyal, highly protective, and also absolute little goofballs. Like Jimmy. They are also social birds, with a huge range of vocalizations and displays LIKE JIMMY they are kind of bad at survival (but mostly human threats) and need a lot of help LIKE JIMMY (please protect your local albatrosses) and they are very loud LIKE JI—[*I am forcibly yanked off the stage by a shepherd’s hook in cartoonish fashion*]

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stardustbarbarians · 1 year ago

Text

Been Here All Along

A Danielle Wagner / Samantha Kiszka fic

Summary: Dani wished Sammi could see that she belongs with her.

Tags: girl van fleet (thank you @ofthecaravel), fluff, pining, angst

Trigger warning: mentions of cheating

A/N: Y'all know what this is. Title taken You Belong With Me by Taylor Swift.

Words: 5.6 k

+++

“Hanson, it was a joke!” Sammi cried out as she ran her hand through her hair. Dani watched from the floor as she paced back and forth, becoming more and more distressed as her conversation with her boyfriend escalated into an argument.

This happened every fucking time. Each conversation between Sammi and her douchebag boyfriend always spiraled into an argument of some sort. And almost every time, Dani was there to witness the fallout. She’d even gotten good enough to predict just what would piss Hanson off; most of the time it was a joke Sammi made, sometimes she just said something in a “tone” he didn’t like. Dani, catching her best friend’s eye and seeing the frustrated emotion swelling in them, just sighed deeply and gave her a sympathetic smile. She glanced down at the Guitar World magazine she was flipping through - the issue Janie was featured on the cover - unable to bear seeing that deeply buried pain swirling in Sammi’s eyes. It made Dani’s chest hurt.

“I’m done! Call me back when you decide to grow up and stop name-calling!” Sammi slammed her phone down onto her dresser, causing the Olivia Rodrigo record to skip a beat. She only ever listened to Sour with Dani. Hanson thought Olivia Rodrigo was “too popular” and didn’t want to hear Sam play it around him. Truth was, Miss Rodrigo’s songs were written about guys exactly like him and it made him uncomfortable.

Dani watched Sammi tilt her head back and scream in frustration. Her back was turned to Danielle, her long chestnut hair concealing the moth tattoo she knew was on her best friend’s upper back. Dani had a matching one in the same spot, her hand reaching up and rubbing at it subconsciously. Sammi didn’t speak for a moment, too busy silently fuming over her dickhead boyfriend.

“He’s so fucking childish!” Samantha squawked out at Dani, dramatically turning on her heel to face her bandmate. Her hair whipped around as well, collecting all on one shoulder. The brown, wavy locks were a stark contrast to her canary yellow, ribbed tank top. It was Dani’s favorite on her: the color complimented her well and it showed off her tattoos. It also prominently showed off Sammi’s nipple piercings when she wasn’t wearing a bra… like right now. Hanson hated them.

That was another argument they got into that Dani witnessed. He claimed that Sammi was being too “provocative” and screamed about how she wanted the whole world to see her nipples. He was a fucking prude. Sammi liked the piercings and that’s all that mattered… They were also hot as hell so that was an added bonus.

“What did Hannibal say this time?” Dani flipped the magazine closed and set it to the side, giving Sam her full attention.

“I asked you not to call him that,” Sammi reminded, her entire body flopping onto the floor like a puppet whose strings were cut, leaning her back against the dresser. There wasn’t any real heat behind it, more a token protest than anything. She’d never admit it, but Dani knew Sammi thought the nickname was hilarious. There was even a smile threatening to break out on Sammi’s lips, one corner tugging up slightly as she ducked her head.

“Well, you still haven’t been able to convince me that the pork chops he made once weren’t human meat,” Dani continued, hoping to get her bandmate out of the foul mood that dick put her in.

“Just like how you haven’t been able to tell me how you know what human meat tastes like,” Samantha retorted, no longer fighting the smile spreading across her lip gloss-clad, beautiful, full lips.

“You missed that day at band camp,” Danielle darkly implied, barely able to keep her act together. She fully broke when Sam snorted out a laugh, covering her mouth with a manicured hand. The two shared a good laugh, sighing contently as their giggling died down. Dani watched as Sammi’s face darkened, her thoughts no doubt turning to the spat she just got into with Hannibal.

“He called me ‘insensitive’ and a ‘cold-hearted bitch’,” Sammi divulged, her head falling against the dresser with a small thud, her throat exposed. She brought a knee up before wrapping her arms around it, Dani taking a moment to admire her tattoo sleeves. They were so perfectly Sammi that it made her smile a little each time she saw them. But there was no smiling from Danielle.

“All because you asked ‘how was your sports-ball match’?” Dani had to strain herself so hard to keep her rage at bay. On top of pretending to be a musician, Hanson played in a beer league for baseball. And, in case you were wondering, he was mediocre at that, as well.

Sammi sighed, her eyes fluttering shut. Dani watched as her throat bobbed as Sammi swallowed. She didn’t have an answer to what Dani asked.

Dani had a choice. Either she has a serious conversation about how awful Hanson is, or she jokes about it with her.

“Another point towards him being a cannibal. They don’t have a sense of humor, y’know.”

Sammi wouldn’t hear Dani’s argument. They’d had it a million times. It always ended with them both getting so mad at each other that they didn't speak for hours. Danielle just wished she knew why Sammi defended him so much. What did she see in him that made her so blind to all of his red flags? He was about as average as they fucking come.

Sammi scoffed out a laugh, her head resting against her knee. Dani was able to catch a glimpse of her smile, making one spread on her lips as well. The two burst into a fit of laughter again, Dani’s heart soaring at the sound of her best friend’s giggles.

“God. Sometimes I wish Hanson were more like you,” the bassist admitted with a sigh, a sad smile in her eyes as she locked eyes with the drummer.

Why waste your time when you could have exactly me

“Like, you just get me. I never have to worry about saying the wrong thing to you… and I feel like I can just be myself,” Sammi continued, her tone growing softer with each word.

“Gee, Sammi. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that you’ve got a crush,” Dani joked, dramatically placing her hands on her hips and tilting her head towards the bassist. She prayed to anything out there that could hear her that her blinding smile was enough to distract from the way her heart was racing.

Rolling her eyes, Sammi couldn’t tamp down the smile she was fighting. She kicked out her foot and tipped Dani over, the drummer making an over the top squawk as she fell to the floor. Her arms sprawled out on the hardwood, Dani’s tongue flopping out of her mouth like a cartoon dead person. Sammi caught sight of Dani’s playboy bunny tongue piercing, the faux diamonds catching the light.

“Shut up, you.”

“Can’t hear you, I’m dead.”

Sammi hummed, Dani cracking an eye open to catch her best friend crossing her arms. She knew that look on Sammi’s face, that smirk growing on her face meaning nothing but trouble. Dani had no time to stop her bandmate from stretching out her arms and digging her fingers into Dani’s sides.

“NO!” Dani screeched as soon as Sammi made contact, fighting to get away from her tickling. It was no use. Sammi had freakishly long arms and fingers that were very adept at playing bass and keys as well as tickling.

After a few minutes of Danielle snorting and chortling at the hands of Sammi, the bassist finally relented.

“Huh, I guess you weren’t dead after all.”

“Fuck off.” There was no heat behind it at all. In fact, Dani was ashamed of how fond she sounded to her own ears. She even felt the love-sick smile on her face, but that didn't mean she could help it.

She’d been through fighting her feelings for Sammi around seventh grade, having come to terms with her sexuality around that time. At first, it was a question of “do I like girls? Or is it just Sammi?” Turns out, it wasn’t just Sammi; though she had been the reason she was questioning in the first place. But when she caught an episode of Pretty Little Liars one night and had a… reaction to seeing Shay Mitchell making out with another girl, that’s when she knew. Well, several “am I gay?” tests later, she knew.

That’s also when she realized she had a type.

“Do you wanna get veggie burgers and take Rosie for a walk?”

Dani could never say no to Sammi. No matter how much she hated veggie burgers.

“Yeah, I’m starving.”

+++

“Hey, Sammi Sweetheart. How’s my stunning girlfriend today?” Hanson wrapped a possessive arm around his girlfriend’s waist, locking eyes with Danielle as he placed a kiss on Samantha’s cheek. Dani felt a deep-seeded jealousy churn in her gut as Sammi giggled loudly and beamed at the action and his greeting.

He always dangled Sammi in front of her. Like now. He pointed a shit eating grin directly at Dani as he pulled Sammi against his side. Dani quickly flipped him the bird before Sam had the chance to look over at her. She hated Hannibal, that greasy little rat. She’d witnessed the fallout of his treatment towards her too many times, having to hold Sammi through the early morning hours while she sobbed after a nasty argument with him. He knew Dani hated him… he also knew that Dani didn’t see Sammi as just her best friend. She wasn’t exactly sure when or how Hanson had figured that one out given he had about as many brain cells as an amoeba, but ever since then he’s made it his goal to flaunt his relationship just to spite Dani every chance he got.

It made Dani see red every time.

It also made her wonder just what Sammi was to that fucking creep.

“Wonderful now that I'm with you,” Sammi answered, directing her smile up at Hanson. He gave it back to her, but the smile never reached his eyes.

“Amazing. So, did you see my set last night? You made a post about it like I asked, right?” he asked with barely a breath between his response and the question.

Dani felt a fiery rage barrel its way through her veins as she watched Sammi’s smile fall. It was such a beautiful thing to lose that Dani was already grieving the loss of her personal brand of sunshine.

“Oh… well, yeah-”

“Hi, Hanson. So great to see you again,” Jos interrupted, sticking her hand out towards the amateur musician with a huge forced smile plastered on her face. It reminded Dani of the time Jos tried to run for Mayor of Frankenmuth as a joke and went around “campaigning”.

The confusion on his face only lasted for a beat, but hell if it wasn’t satisfying to see him falter. He quickly schooled his face before pulling his arm out from around Sammi’s waist and shook Jos’s hand. “Nice to see you too.”

The disgust on her face was easy to miss if you didn’t know Joselyn well. But forever fiercely protective of her youngest sister, Jos would go through hell to help Sammi. That included getting her out of whatever uncomfortable situation her shitty boyfriend put her in. Dani was forever grateful for Jos, for if she herself had stepped in, there would be violence.

“Greetings, Hanny. Let’s get rolling, shall we?” Janie spared a half-hearted wave towards Hannibal before pushing the door of the recording studio open, her eyebrows raised over her dark sunglasses. She was never concerned with punctuality unless it involved being around Hanson; it always made Dani snort. He also famously hated any nickname given to him.

Hanson’s smile strained just a bit at being rushed but made no protests as he walked through the door. Sammi trailed behind him, sending the twins a thankful smile as she passed them.

“What a fucking skeeze,” Jos muttered to Dani once the happy couple were out of earshot.

“An absolute scumbag,” Janie added, shaking her head as they all watched him stop Sammi and take a picture of them together in front of the recording room they booked. Dani knew without a doubt that would end up all over his socials within a few days, flaunting that he was dating the Samantha Francessca Kiszka of Greta Van Fleet. Y’know, bass/keyboard player from the world renowned and critically acclaimed rock band that is shaking the music industry. Dani could not keep the sneer off her face as she watched him use her to boost his own career.

And the worst part was, she was letting him exploit her name and reputation. Sammi was aware on some level that she was being used by Hanson, but this revelation didn’t happen until recently. At first, she was blissfully unaware. But as the months went on, she slowly started to notice how he made sure to take as many pictures with her as possible and get into fights with her fans online.

“Sammi, you know what he’s doing, right?” Dani broke down around the seven month mark of their relationship. She would’ve said something earlier, but she was going through a breakup with Malcom at the time and wasn’t really paying attention.

The bone deep sigh from Sammi filled the still summer night air. The two of them had escaped into the backyard of the cabin the four of them had rented. They were working on their newest album together, escaping to nature to fully get into the creative process. Jos and Janie were doing their own thing- reenacting Shakespeare of all things - and the younger two decided to slip away. The bassist looked up at the sky, her grown out hair slipping off her shoulders. The drummer was briefly reminded of the year prior when Sammi got her hair chopped. She showed up on Dani’s doorstep with a giddy yet nervous smile on her face, wanting to know her opinion. Dani loved it, of course. Sammi always looked good, no matter what.

“Yeah…” The bassist’s voice cracked under the weight of the emotions flooding her body. Dani watched her eyes flutter; she was blinking back tears. Despite the warmth and humidity in the air, Dani’s blood turned to ice within her veins.

The drummer swallowed thickly to clear her throat of the emotion in her own throat. “Then… Then why are you still with him?”

Sammi quickly stole a glance at Dani just fast enough for the latter to catch the stars glittering in the unshed tears in her eyes, the bassist forcing her eyes down to the grass that they sat on. It was quiet enough that Dani could hear the way Sammi’s throat clicked as she swallowed.

“Sometimes you’ve got to settle for second best when what you want the most is unattainable,” Samantha whispered, still refusing to look at Dani. She was playing with a long blade of grass, twirling the plant around her fingers.

Danielle knew there was something more that Sammi was trying to say, but she couldn’t read between the lines no matter how desperately she scanned the page.

That look on Sammi’s face that night under the stars was all Dani could think of as she watched her pull a strained smile for yet another picture Hannibal wanted with her. The broken hope hidden deep within those amber brown eyes… almost like it was heartbreak. When Hanson lowered his phone, Sammi glanced over at Dani, her smile dropping. Not just her smile, but her whole guard dropped as she gazed into her bestfriend’s eyes. That mask she always wore around her boyfriend slipped. It revealed a desperate look, a soul-deep yearning from Sammi projected out at Dani.

She’s longing for something better

Why Sammi thought Dani was the one who would be able to save her was beyond Dani. But she’d be damned if she wasn’t going to be the one to do it.

+++

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

Dani was rudely ripped out of her dream about her band playing a huge show in Tokyo that was televised around the world by loud incessant knocking. Praying that she just was hearing things, she flipped over and cozied back down into her sheets.

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

So, she wasn’t hearing things.

With a frustrated growl, Dani threw off the covers. She groggily checked her phone for the time, groaning when the numbers read 3:41 AM. That’s when she noticed all the notifications from Sammi. 20+ texts, 7 calls, and 3 voicemails.

KNOCK! KNOCK!

Dani looked over at the door to her apartment, her phone buzzing in her hand. She didn’t have to look to know it was Sammi texting her again. If she were more awake, all that in combination would make her very concerned. But as it was, she was more focused on making sure she didn’t stumble over her laundry on her floor in the dark.

Rubbing her face with her free hand briefly, she then reached for the door and wrenched it open. The wind from the door opening blew back her loose curls that fell from her haphazard at a bun. Dani had to blink a few times before registering that it was Sammi standing on the other side of it. It took her even longer to notice the tears streaming down her face.

Dani couldn’t process anything but panic before her best friend threw her arms around her, Dani’s heart sinking to the floorboards at the sight. Sammi sobbed into Dani’s shoulder loudly, hiccupping for air and clutching onto the drummer. Dani immediately wrapped her arms around Sam, closing the door with her foot. For a moment, the two stood in the hallway; Sammi crying and Dani attempting to soothe her by stroking her hair.

Danielle didn’t ask any questions. She knew Sammi would tell her when she was ready to. For now, Dani understood that she needed comfort. So, she nestled Sammi in close and rested her head against Sam’s, standing there for god knows however long.

Finally, Sammi pulled away, her glassy red eyes still brimming with tears. She wiped her face with her shirt, pulling the hem up to reveal her belly button piercing and hip tattoo. She held the fabric there, her breath shaky as she attempted to pull herself together. Dani rubbed her shoulder tenderly, her brow knit as she took in the sight of her distraught best friend. Now that she was more cognizant, Dani was able to fully grasp the gravity of the situation.

Sammi finally dropped her shirt from her face, sniffling loudly. Without looking at Dani, she kicked off her shoes. Though when she did lock eyes with the drummer, Dani’s heart shattered into thousands of pieces. The unadulterated hurt that swam in them…

“Oh, Sammi. What’s wrong, honey?”

Despite the dim light of the hallway, Dani could still see the fresh set of tears that were triggered by the question fall down her cheeks. Her face contorted to a mask of sorrow before she lurched forward into her band mate’s arms once more. Dani felt horrible for asking.

“Oh, angel, I’m sorry. I-I didn’t mean to make you more upset-”

Sammi just shook her head, her hands clutching at Dani’s loose-fitting crop top as she sobbed into it. It’s not your fault

“H-Here. How about we sit down. Is that ok?” Dani’s tone was so soft, just merely above a whisper. She’d felt so lost, always feeling useless when it came to comforting people. She worried about making it worse for Sammi, somehow upsetting her more.

Sam pulled away slowly, nodding her head as she wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand. The two settled onto Dani’s sofa, the owner flipping the lights on and sliding the dimmer all the way down after the back of her eyes throbbed in pain at the brightness. Dani made sure to sit close to Sammi, at least within an arm’s length in case she needed physical comfort once again. Sammi was curled up in a ball on the cushions, her knees pulled up to her chest with her tattooed arms wrapped around her legs.

After heaving a big sigh, Sammi finally revealed why she was so upset. “I caught Hanson sleeping with another woman.”

I fucking knew it

That was the first thought that ran through Dani’s mind at the news. She had been suspecting this was something he was doing for a while; at the very least, she knew he was capable of it. Dani had never been so upset that she was right in her life. He was a scumbag loser and Dani was already plotting how to get away with cutting his dick off and feeding it to him. Janie and Jos would cover for her, give her an alibi. There was no way in hell she’d be able to get to him with his guard down. He must’ve known Dani would be the first person Sammi would go to about this, so she’d have to just storm his house. He was a little bitch, she’d have no problem overpowering him-

“Dani?”

Danielle was ripped from her thoughts of assault by Sammi’s voice. It was so soft, a slight crack to it when she said the “a” in Dani’s name. A pang lanced itself through the drummer like an arrow was shot through her chest. She was so caught up in her own rage she failed to be there for her best friend and it made her feel awful.

Instead of saying anything, she simply pulled Sammi into a hug, resting her head against her chest. Sammi instantly coiled her arms tightly around Dani, pressing her face into the crook of her band mate’s neck. All Dani could do was gently rub Sam’s back, her other hand cupping the back of the bassist’s head.

The two sat there for… well, god knows how long. All Dani knew was that - despite the way her eyes felt like they were sinking into her skull from the weight of her fatigue - she was willing to stay there until the end of time. Although, she was wishing she was wearing something more than a loose fitting crop top and her underwear. It wasn’t exactly the best attire for such an emotional moment like this.

“I thought he loved me…” Sammi lamented between sobs, her words slightly muffled.

Dani’s arms tightened around the bassist on their own accord, her heart lurching forward in her chest as if it was attempting to become physically closer to its love. Dani’s throat became dry; she knew he didn’t actually love Sammi. He just loved her fame. But she couldn’t say that to Sam.

“I’m so sorry, love,” Dani whispered, meaning every word. She truly was sorry for how horribly her boyfriend treated her and how he was using her. She wished that she could just take Sammi out of this horrible situation; to shoulder all her sorrow and heartbreak she was currently going through so that Sammi was able to live on without knowing pain. She was willing to take on whatever burden life threw at Sam if it meant she would remain unscarred. Hell, she’d lasso the moon down for Sammi if only she asked for it.

But Dani couldn’t say that. How could she? How could she put into words that a mere smile from Sammi was enough to make Dani’s entire world shift beneath her feet; every time she so much as caught a glimpse of Sammi, it took the breath right out of her lungs? That Dani’s entire world revolved around her?

Instead, she simply cradled the heartbroken woman in her arms. She placed a kiss on the top of that beautiful head of silky, chestnut hair, closing her eyes as she did so. And she started plotting.

+++

“NEW YORK!!” Jos screamed into the mic, her voice amplified in the huge stadium. The crowd cheered as she shouted the name of the city and state they were currently playing in. It was a sold out show. That meant they were playing in front of a crowd of over 20,000.

Oh. And that wasn’t even mentioning the camera crew that was filming their every move for a documentary they were releasing for this tour. Dani was used to feeling watched, but that made her feel like a bug under a microscope. That was until the band walked on stage to the deafening roar of their adoring audience four times larger than the population of their hometown.

Dani, covered in body glitter, waved at them all. Her stage attire was so different to what she normally wore. Currently, she was wearing what mimicked a bikini - black bottoms with a bedazzled playboy bunny on the front under her belly button that sloped upwards to connect to a silver bra piece. She wore black latex gloves from her mid palms to mid bicep. Her legs were clad in bedazzled fishnets. She blew kisses at the cameras… maybe at Sammi as well. But how could you not? She was dressed in only what Dani would classify as a “revenge outfit”. She wore navy satin flare pants with a white zipper down the center which she left about half undone to expose her playboy belly button piercing. Her top was a corset made out of that same satin blue, her boobs completely out. The only thing that slightly kept her modesty were the black nipple pasties in the shape of a heart on each one. She wore matching latex gloves as Dani, both of them having a moment before the show started wherein they shared their excitement over matching. And then Dani took on Sam’s full look and all the moisture in her mouth traveled down south.

“You all have been an impeccable crowd. Truly, we couldn’t have asked for a better one tonight. This has been a dream for all of us to play Madison Square Gardens for years and we are all so blessed to live that dream with all of you,” Joselyn rambled in order to let the rest of the band catch their breath and walk off stage before the encore.

Dani ran off to chug some water. The fire that belched from their stage went off right behind her, causing her to sweat profusely. But as she looked back on the stage to catch Jos descending the stairs, Sammi stayed on stage. She hadn’t taken off her bass, either, the strap still pressing into her shoulder. Instead of walking toward the stairs, Sammi instead went for Jos’s mic stand. Dani instantly set her drink down and made for the stairs, stopping short when Sammi glanced over at her with that smirk that meant nothing but trouble.

“How’s everybody doing tonight, huh?” the bassist asked, pulling the mic from its stand and walking up and down the stage. The crowd responded in a chorus of cheers, causing Sammi’s smile to grow.

“That’s what I like to hear! Now, I know we like to play this little game where we pretend to leave and then come back and play a few more songs-”

That was the plan we made for the documentary, Samantha. Why are you fucking it up??

“-but, considering I don’t really feel like going backstage currently, I thought I’d play a little solo for y’all instead. How’s that sound?” She pulled the mic away from her mouth and pointed at the crowd. It wasn’t needed. The roaring of the crowd was loud enough to be heard from a different state. Sammi winced at the volume, but her smile didn’t dim in the slightest.

“Well, I better stop yapping and get to that, huh?” The mic picked up Sam’s giggle, the warm sound barely audible over the excited screams from the audience. She quickly put Jos’s mic back on its stand and glanced back at Dani one more time before strumming a chord on her bass.

“Don’t feel like going backstage”... But, why?

Danielle whipped her head around at the sound of something dropping. As she did, she noticed Hanson standing behind her.

Ah. That’s why.

Dani quickly whipped her head back around when she heard Sammi begin her solo, feeling the bass rumble through her body with each note. It was the first time she was really able to experience Sammi’s instrument like this. Normally when it was cranked up this loud, she was behind her kit. Sammi was glowing. Capturing the attention of everybody there and holding it without any wavering. It was clear how much she was able to hone her craft, her high skill level on full display.

Sammi was lost in her own world. The second coming of the Lord could’ve happened and Samantha would’ve kept playing. People oftentimes mistook Sammi and Janie as twins. Dani never really got it. But now, witnessing Sammi get so lost in her music and making magic from her strings, Dani finally saw it.

She suddenly became overwhelmed with a feeling of desire; both carnal and romantic. She became so swept up in her longing that she hardly realized she was climbing the steps to go on stage. Dani barely registered the increase in applause as she bathed in the stage lights, the crowd able to see her glittering under the glowing lights. Sammi didn’t notice her at all. She was so caught up in her performance. But she was so breathtaking. Her long hair had stuck to her face in places where her sweat accumulated, her face flush from the heat and exhaustion of performing, and her mouth hung open as she panted for breath. Dani stared for a moment, aware of the awe on her face as she caught a glimpse of herself on the big screen.

The big screen…

Her mind jumped to a few nights ago when Sammi had come into her apartment sobbing over a shattered heart. She recalled her plans to make Hanson pay for what he did to her darling Sweetheart Sammi. Now was the perfect opportunity.

Stepping up behind the bassist, Dani slid her hands around Sammi’s exposed chest. She didn’t halt them until they rested on the heart-shaped pasties, fanning her fingers out slightly as she pressed Sammi’s backside to her front. Dani knew every camera and set of eyes were on them now if they weren’t before.

For the first time that night, Sammi played a sour note. It rang out in the arena as her fingers flew off the bass string to Dani’s hands. However, she made no attempts to remove them. Rather, Sammi pressed them harder into her flesh. Dani glanced over at the stadium screen, noting how red Sam’s face had become. But, there was no missing the satisfied smile across her candy apple red lips.

Knowing it was now or never, Dani powered through her nerves as she lowered her hands to Sammi’s hips. They were shaking furiously as she spun her bandmate around to be face to face, her heart thudding so hard she thought it was going to burst. Swallowing thickly, she closed her eyes and leaned in.

Sammi lips tasted like apples, the liquid lipstick she used aptly named “Red Delicious”. Beyond that, they were soft - save for one spot she liked to chew when she got nervous. But that made it better; that made it authentic. If it weren't for that, Dani might’ve thought she was dreaming. She really came close to believing she was dreaming when Sammi lifted her hand up to caress Dani’s cheek and feel her smile into the kiss. That’s when the drummer’s ears started to ring, barely drowning out the thunderous roar of the audience. However, it was just loud enough to cause Dani to crack an eye open to see the stadium cameras panning over to where Sammi’s boyfriend was stationed backstage. He wore a look of pure shock and disgust on his face, an unfair volition swirling in his eyes.

Closing her eyes once again, Dani slid one hand to the small of Sam’s back to pull her in closer. With the other, she flipped the bird towards where she knew Hanson was standing. He stormed off, she would later find out, to lose his 15 minutes of fame from riding the coattails of Sammi’s career. The only recognition he would ever gain was by his reaction being edited into the documentary of their concert.

“Ahem.” Sammi and Dani finally pulled apart at the sound of someone clearing their throat filtering through the arena speakers. They still held one another close as they both glanced over to where the twins were standing; Janie with a dumbfounded look on her face and Joselyn with her hands on her lips, a proud smile pulling at the corners of her mouth.

“Well, folks. You just witnessed what we’ve been waiting to see for over ten years. History in the making, you could call it,” Jos spoke, addressing the crowd. Dani could feel her face heat up, her skin no doubt a glowing shade of red. However, that didn’t dim her blinding smile in the slightest.

“That was one hell of an encore.” Jos swung back around to look at the rhythm section, mouthing “proud of you” at both of them and blowing a kiss.

And she was right. Not only did their documentary make record sales, but that moment made history; being written about in headlines for decades to come.

+++

I did it for the girls and the gays and the theys

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